


Apastron

by theopteryx



Series: Space Pirates AU [2]
Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Alternate Universe - Space, M/M, Warning: Contains Pedicone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-04
Updated: 2012-03-04
Packaged: 2017-11-01 03:18:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/351353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theopteryx/pseuds/theopteryx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Space pirates AU. Life in the black goes on, but it’s not easy. It’s never that easy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Apastron

**Author's Note:**

> This is the sequel to [Might I Have a Bit of Earth](http://archiveofourown.org/works/351315). Thank you to my betas, mrsronweasley and brooklinegirl!
> 
> (Written before Pedicone was revealed to be UghPedicone. Feel free to imagine someone else in his place.)

Frank spit on the ground and it was red, like blood - it was blood, it was his blood, _fuck_. “I’ve been shot,” he said, and it was hard because one of his teeth was loose, and it garbled the words from where it’d cut into his cheek. “You’ll have to go on without me.”

“Stop _complaining_ ,” Gerard said, knocking his goggles back up his nose with the heel of his hand. They were too big and the elastic strap had frayed almost to breaking. They kept sliding down his face so he had to keep his head tilted back, nose in the air. Like a snotty welder. Frank giggled.

“I’m dying, Gee. For real this time. Will you cry when I’m gone?”

“At least I’ll get some fucking _quiet_ ,” Gerard said, not looking down. Frank tugged on the strap of Gerard’s boot.

“Gerard. _Gerard_ , seriously, I’ve been shot.”

Gerard ignored him and focused on the tip of his welding torch instead. It looked like he was almost done, maybe, or was just taking his sweet fucking time while Frank bled out all over the floor.

“ _Gerard_ -”

“If you make me fuck this up I will kick you in the face,” Gerard said.

“If you kick me in the face you’ll get blood all over your new boots,” Frank said, seriously.

Gerard didn’t say anything, just grimaced, and the tip of his welding torch fizzled and went out. “Done,” he said, and shoved the goggles up on his face to look down at him. There was a weird soot outline of where they’d rested on his cheeks. “What the fuck, you’re weren’t shot.”

“Oh yeah,” Frank said, rolling over on his back. “That was the other guy. My bad.”

“What happened to your face?” Gerard asked, rolling his eyes and yanking hard at the steel-wrought lock. It shuddered, metal screeching against metal, and inched farther out of the wall.

“I fell on it. Will you still like me if I’m not pretty?” Frank asked, pushing himself back up to his knees. “This is an important question.” It was. He’d fallen pretty hard.

Gerard shoved hard again at the wall and the lock fell out with a clang, the door immediately going lax in the hinges. “I’ll like you more if you get off your knees -”

“That’s not what you said -”

“And help carry this shit,” Gerard said, talking over him. He disappeared into the safe and Frank followed, scrambling up and pressing close behind him in the dark space.

“Holy _shit_ ,” Frank said, and couldn’t breathe.

“Now _that’s_ pretty,” Gerard said, voice warm. Frank couldn’t help but agree. At least one hundred stacks of compressed copper bricks were laid out on the shelves, primed and ready for the market. The black one, at least.

“Are you drooling blood?” Gerard asked, after a beat.

“Probably,” Frank said, still staring ahead at the copper bricks. “I don’t know. I can’t feel my face. I think maybe it’s happiness oozing out of my face.”

“You are so fucking gross,” Gerard said, and started passing him bricks over his shoulder to slide into Frank’s padded vest pockets. Frank grabbed his hand at one point, bit down on the knuckle, and Gerard kind of shoved at his face, but it was affectionate, light, even though Frank’s face was throbbing. Frank grinned, and settled the weight of the bricks more firmly into his pockets. Fucking _oozing_.

*

“Another!” Frank slurred, and slammed the glass down on the counter.

Ray rolled his eyes. “I don’t think so.”

“Ray _Toro_.” Frank pointed at his chest. “I have credits. I have credits for you, you beautiful piece of man body, and those credits say you must serve me what I ask.”

“I’m a bartender, not a prostitute, and I’m pretty sure even the ones out here would draw the limit at you,” Ray said.

“I think I am offended by that,” Frank said, and frowned, but it made his head hurt.

“Stop bleeding on my bar,” Ray called out as he moved down to serve another customer. Frank shrugged and wiped at his nose; it came back dry, crusted with red. Ray was such a liar. He nicked the shot glass from the guy next to him when he wasn’t looking, throwing it back before he could turn.

Gerard was taking forever to get back, which was bull - he still used Ray as a cleaner when they swiped credits, but never let him handle the real black market stuff, which just meant everything took for-fucking-ever and Frank was bored.

He looked around the bar, scouting faces. There were a few faces that were vaguely familiar, and he ran through the catalog in his head - the guy in the corner, with the bruised lip, he was worth at least five thousand, something about pistol-whipping a Joe, or something. Frank could have looked it up on the database if he’d had time, but he didn’t want to give himself away. It’d be easy, though - the guy was one of the ones who already had a warrant chip implanted from his last stint through the jail system, so if Frank could get him to the bounty office, it’d be a cinch to get him back in. Frank fidgeted, his fingers on the empty shot glass in front of him. _Not here_ , he could practically hear Gerard say. _Not at Ray’s_.

Fuck it. Frank pushed off the stool and made his way to the front door, sliding into the shadow of the outside alley behind the neon sign. He could wait.

*

“Did you get punched in the face _again_?” Gerard asked, staring at him.

Frank touched his fingers to his nose and they came away wet, red. “A little.”

“Jesus, Frank,” Gerard said, frowning. “Do you just go around running into fists? The fuck.”

“Not necessarily,” Frank said, annoyed. “I hunted a little, fucking sue me. I got us five thousand-”

“You hunted? At Ray’s?” Gerard asked.

“No, fucker, in the alley outside. Look, we got enough for -” he started, digging in his pocket to pull out the credit note from the bond shop.

“Who?” Gerard asked, cutting him off. “What guy?”

Frank frowned. “Jon Rivera. Dude was on the list for beating up a Joe, and he was just hanging out-”

“Jesus, Frank,” Gerard said, running a hand through his hair. “I fucking know that guy. I _told_ you not to hunt at Ray’s-”

“I didn’t _hunt at Ray’s_ , I-”

“It’s fucking neutral territory!” Gerard said. “Where do you think I found most of my jobs? My leads? Jesus Christ, Frank, if they know I’m running with a bounty hunter they’ll-”

“Fucking _what_ , Gee,” Frank snapped. “They’re not your friends. They’re on the list.”

“Yeah, well, so are you,” Gerard said.

“Exactly, so stop fucking pretending like there are - rules - or a system, or some shit. He was on the list, we needed the money, I got us the fucking money,” Frank spat. “I got us some cigarettes, too, but fuck you if you think I’m sharing.”

Gerard paused. “You got cigarettes?”

“Yeah I got you some fucking cigarettes but I am keeping them now because self-righteous assholes don’t get cigarettes. Maybe if you’re lucky I’ll let you eat the fucking filter.”

Gerard fidgeted, and looked over his shoulder. He opened his mouth to say something but the loud, feedbacking screech of The Grit’s PA system cut him off, effectively silencing everyone.

 _Sister Mary, please report to docking_ , the friendly female voice said. _Sister Mary, please report to docking_.

“Fuck,” both Gerard and Frank said in unison. Joes.

“I hope you got a good deal on those bricks,” Frank said, turning to look at Gerard as people scattered around them.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Gerard cursed, but Frank grabbed his wrist and yanked and they hurried together towards the docking bay. The rest of the hall was already bustling, people shutting doors and flipping off the neon. When they passed Ray’s he was standing outside, yanking the metal grating down over the door.

“Raid,” he called out to them, and Frank swore under his breath. Trying to drive them out like cockroaches, crush them under their fucking heels.

When they got to the docking bay it was chaos. Every portal was full of ships waiting to break the airlock. “Fuck,” Frank said again. “We need a transport ship.” The last ship they’d stolen they’d had to ditch the last system over; they’d grabbed a ride with a few miners hitting The Grit for some off-duty cycles. They didn’t have a way out.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Gerard said, helpfully. Frank spotted a guy in an old Slate gang jacket - slimy, connections everywhere, mostly in arms dealing - hurrying by them and grabbed him by the elbow, pulling him back.

“You got a way out of here?” Frank asked. The guy looked them over quickly, taking in Frank’s bruised face and the holster half-hidden by the flap of Gerard’s jacket.

“Fifty thousand,” he said, and Frank barely managed not to snarl.

“That’s bullshit, I could buy a fucking ship for-”

“Then buy a fucking ship. I’m selling you a ride,” the guy said, starting to pull away.

“Fine,” Gerard said, steady. “We’re in. Let’s go.”

The guy just jerked his head forward and hurried back down the corridor. Gerard and Frank followed as best they could through the throng of people trying to get out of the way. It was only minutes, now, before the Joes got there.

“We don’t have fifty thousand,” Frank hissed at Gerard as they rounded another corner. “I mean, if you want to kill him to get on, I’ll fucking do it, I’ll shoot that fucker right in the fucking face-”

“We do have the money,” Gerard said, hand at the small of Frank’s back. “I got forty-five for the bricks.”

“That’s still-”

Gerard looked at him, and Frank’s gut twisted, realization setting in hot and sharp. “So we’ll have nothing, then,” he said. “Your forty-five and my five for Rivera’s head and we’ll be left with fucking nothing.”

“We’ll have a ride,” Gerard said, not looking at him, and Frank turned to look ahead, too, focused on pressing through the crowd ahead instead of how they were totally fucked, how Gerard should have just let him take him out, how, in the end, Frank had been totally fucking right, and they had needed the money. Fuck Gerard’s code. Fuck it.

*

The transport ship turned out to be even worse than Frank had been expecting, which was saying something. It was, however, as Gerard reminded him, a ride, and Frank had heard in the bathroom that the Joes had hocked something like fifty people off to lock up from the main street of The Grit alone. It smelled like rat piss on the ship but at least it wasn’t a cell.

Frank squeezed back between the bodies of the other passengers to get in close to Gerard, who was crammed up beneath one of the beams of the bulkheads. There was some dude next to him, slouched awkwardly against his shoulder and snoring, and Gerard was staring at him with a sour look on his face.

“Food,” Frank said, shoving his hips into the tiny space between Gerard and some old lady. “Food, food. I am officially the breadwinner in this relationship.”

Gerard just rolled his eyes but accepted the crumbled napkin gratefully. He opened it delicately, making sure not to spill any in his lap. “Shit, man,” he said, looking down at the yellow chunk of bread, “What is this?” He sniffed it, and his eyes widened. “Cornbread? You murder somebody for this?”

Frank rolled his eyes. “Don’t be dramatic.” He’d stolen it, sneaked it off the serving table while the guy manning the cafeteria line was looking at some old lady fumbling for credits. Almost comforting in how easy it was.

Gerard groaned a little as he ate it, and Frank just watched his mouth, fingers against his lips. “I don’t even fucking care if it’s real, it _tastes_ real,” Gerard said. “Can almost pretend there’s real corn in this shit.”

Frank shrugged. “I wouldn’t know.”

Gerard just looked at him, then broke off another piece and passed it over. “I keep forgetting you grew up out here.”

Frank shrugged again. He didn’t forget, he just didn’t like to talk about it. There wasn’t any point. He ate quickly, licking the crumbs off his fingers, even though his hands were filthy and the final bites tasted metallic.

“How long ‘till we hit the next stop?” Gerard asked, crumbling up the napkin and tossing it to the feet of the snoring man next to him.

“Few cycles, at least. We can’t afford to stay on here any longer than that, anyway,” Frank said, voice dropping down low. Gerard nodded. They had to find another job, and fast.

Eventually the crew dimmed the lights in the room, signifying the start of the sleep cycle, and Frank shoved in closer to Gerard - making sure the old lady next to him didn’t lean his way - and watched the other passengers start to drift off. Frank hissed when cold fingers touched his bare skin under his shirt and immediately elbowed Gerard in the side, but Gerard just hooked his fingers deeper into the waistband of his pants.

“I’m freezing,” Gerard said.

“You’re always fucking freezing,” Frank grumbled, but leaned back against him.

He hadn’t even realized he’d fallen asleep until he woke up again, jarred awake with a hitched inhale. The room was pitch black, lit only by the track lights in the floor that weren’t blocked by sleeping passengers. Gerard’s hand was spread wide on his skin, low on his hips - on his birds, Frank knew.

Frank shifted a little and Gerard’s fingers twitched, which meant he was awake. Probably hadn’t slept at all. His fingertips barely moved against Frank’s skin in tiny, tight circles, moving lower down his hips, but not far enough. Frank stayed still as long as he could before he rolled towards him, and he could see Gerard’s eyes shining in the dim orange lights.

He didn’t say anything, just pressed in closer so Gerard’s hand slid around to his back, rucking up his shirt, until their faces were so close he could feel his breaths in the dark, the way they hitched when Frank worked his hands in between them to get at Gerard’s fly, on his cock.

Almost two weeks since they’d been had the time or the place to fuck - this was neither, but Frank didn’t care. He sucked on Gerard’s neck and shifted so his dick was against Gerard’s thigh, got friction when Gerard’s hips rolled against him. His wrist was cramped, twisted by the waist of Gerard’s pants, but he wasn’t going to stop, not now. Gerard was loud, he was always too fucking loud even when he was clenching his jaw shut, and when he was about to come Frank could feel it, could tell by the way his hips jerked, and when he kissed him it was half to stifle the noise, but mostly to feel Gerard’s moan in his own throat. The guy next to Gerard shifted, made a sleepy, blurry noise, and Frank paused only long enough to make sure he was still out before wiping his hand on the wall and undoing his fly so Gerard could work his hand in.

Gerard’s hands were rough, and the motion short, abortive, restricted by the small bit of space behind him, but good, so good, and it wasn’t long before Frank was biting his lip, too, cock warm and slick in Gerard’s hand. When he came Gerard licked it off his palm, and then kissed him, and he’d tasted like the food, before, but now he just tasted like Frank, and Frank made a choked, short noise.

It took Frank longer to fall back asleep after and it was in a weird, crooked position, but Gerard’s hand was still spread warm and wide on his back, under his shirt, and pressed close he could hear Gerard’s breaths even out over the thrum of the ship’s engines. He stayed still, and watched the orange safety lights of the floor brighten and dim with the ebb of power cycling through the ship. It was almost like it was breathing, too, and Frank timed his breaths with it until he fell asleep, deep and regular.

*

Four cycles later and Frank gladly would have taken being shot out of a god-damned airlock if it had meant he didn’t have to smell the old lady next to him ever again. Or just for a god-damned _shower_. In the meantime, though, he had neither, just seemingly endless ticks of being stuck in a stifling room with fuck-ups for passengers.

“You know what would be awesome,” Frank slurred, rolling his head against the wall towards Gerard, “if I could just, like, shed my skin. And have new skin.”

“Like a snake,” Gerard said, half-listening, not looking over. He was eerily calm. It was weird how he was calmer when there were people around then when there weren’t, considering his line of work.

“Yeah, one of those tube things,” Frank said, waving his hands a little to demonstrate the movement. He’d seen them on the media stations, once, some history show.

“You’d have to get tattooed all over again,” Gerard said. “Like a new blank canvas every time. Or a baby.”

“I am ignoring the part where I _think_ you just called me a baby, because fuck no, that shit would stick, like markings. Like a real snake,” Frank said. He didn’t like the idea of having bare skin again. Besides, where would Gerard know where to put his hands.

“You should go back to sleep,” Gerard said, after a beat.

“ _You_ should go back to sleep,” Frank repeated. “I’m not tired.”

Gerard shot him a glance. “I’m fine. And you’re yawning.”

“I’m so bored of _sleeping_ ,” Frank said, rolling his head back.

“Then go walk around,” Gerard said. “Find out when we’re supposed to be docking.”

“ _Never_ ,” Frank said. “We are never docking, we are going to be stuck on this stupid ship forever until we _die_.”

“Okay, _now_ I’m calling you a baby,” Gerard said, leaning back against the wall and crossing his arms across his chest, eyes closed.

“Fucker,” Frank said, flicking Gerard in the shoulder when he pushed up from the bench. Gerard swatted at his hand but kept his eyes closed. Frank had to step over a few more people to get back out into the hallway, and all of them looked about as cranky as he did. There wasn’t that much room in the hallway to walk around, either, but at least it didn’t smell as bad as the cargo room, and he could stretch his legs a little bit. He went as far as he could before he’d actually have to touch people to crawl over them, and turned back. There didn’t seem to be anyone who would know anything about when they were supposed to hit port, just a lot of tired-looking people crammed in too tight.

He passed the cafeteria but the door was locked and sealed. He considered fucking with the keypad to get it open, but there were too many people around watching, so he passed on. There was a corridor just off the main hallway, though, which was relatively clear of people, and when he glanced in he could see a door at the back, set into the heavy metal.

Frank darted one look over his shoulder before going down the hallway and flipping up the lid to the keypad. Easy as shit, they never fucking learned - less than thirty seconds and a few crossed wires and he was through, out of the cargo deck and into the crew hold.

He wasn’t actually looking to steal anything, or even particularly be noticed - the Slate gang weren’t known for being total fucks, but they weren’t exactly the nicest crew around, and probably wouldn’t appreciate him snooping. But whatever, they had shitty locks, what did they expect.

He stuck to the shadows and followed the curve of the corridor until he came to the first set of open doors - it looked like a canteen for a crew, from the glimpse he caught, and Frank pressed in close behind the frame so he could overhear the conversation.

“He’s a fucking cock,” someone said, mouth full of something. “This food is shit.”

“The passengers ate most of it. What do you expect?”

“That’s what I’m fucking saying! Black took on too many and it smells like a shithole down there, all those people sweating on each other. And now we’re stuck eating back-up rations because he’s a fucking idiot who can’t read ration limitations.”

“I don’t know what you expect, man, times are tight, we gotta make up for the cargo we lost from the Joes hitting The Grit too early.”

“We’re stopping in the Ember system in a few ticks, right? I say we sell ‘em off to the Thistle colonies when we’re there, you know most of their rings traffic there. We already got what they paid for to get on this fucking ship, we could make double and eat real meat for weeks.”

Frank’s gut lurched, and he had to plant his hands against the wall behind him to steady himself. _No_.

“I don’t know how you sleep at night, man,” the other guy said, laughing.

“I’d sleep better with real food in my gut, that’s for fucking sure.”

They kept talking but Frank couldn’t hear anything, couldn’t feel anything. He didn’t remember leaving the hallway, or getting back to the cargo levels, or even back into the main holding room, just seeing Gerard in front of him and yanking at his arm to drag him to his feet.

“Frank, what -” Gerard started, but Frank just shook his head and pulled, and Gerard went silent and let him pull him out of the cargo room and into the hallway.

He dragged him down the corridor and around the bend until there weren’t any people - they had to get away, and he’d seen it going into the crew hold - there -

A maintenance shaft, no bolts on the outside, just catches that opened easy - and in no time he had the duct cover pulled out of the wall and was slipping in, shoving Gerard in before him. It was cramped, but there was enough space to move - they could go back, into the main ventilation system, but they’d still be able to hear if anyone followed behind them. Frank stilled, locking the grating back into place, and just breathed, waiting to see if anyone had seen them.

“You want to tell me what the fuck is going on?” Gerard whispered. Frank jerked his head, shut up, shut _up_ , and kept staring straight ahead. He couldn’t hear any footsteps from down the hallway but he had to be sure -

“Look, if you wanted to get some privacy so we could fuck, I’m sure we could have just improvised something that smelled slightly less like cooling fluid-”

“It’s not a fucking joke,” Frank snapped, and Gerard immediately went silent.

A beat passed, and Frank could feel Gerard staring at him, but he didn’t meet his eyes. “What’s wrong?” Gerard asked, steady and quiet.

“Just - shut _up_ ,” Frank hissed, and inched forward to peer through the grating and out into the hallway. Nothing. They were in the clear. For now. They had to get out of here. They had to go, they had to _go_ -

He scrambled past Gerard in the duct and pressed forward, making sure to slide as much as possible to avoid the sounds of his boots against the metal. He could hear Gerard crawling after him, louder - he wasn’t used to this, didn’t know how to do this, he’d always done it with guns blazing, didn’t know shit about shadows - but Frank didn’t stop. They came to an intersection, and the air smelled cooler, newer - they had to be over the crew bay by this point.

“Frank-” Gerard started again, and Frank jerked, looking down at him in the shaft.

“Shut up and follow me or I will leave you here,” Frank said. Some distant part of him knew that he sounded off, hollow, but he didn’t care, there wasn’t time for this shit right now.

He followed the grid of the duct work until he could hear the crew murmuring through the ceilings below him - they were getting ready, shifting restlessly, excited to be moving after so long in stasis. They must be even closer to docking than Frank had thought.

He stopped when he got to a grating above a room - a locker room, by the smell, and the sound of shower pipes groaning and recycling water in tanks through the wall, and pressed his ear down. There was a shower running, and he could hear the noise of someone twisting the shower handles. When he shifted in the duct he could see the guy’s shoulder, totally buck naked and scrubbing down.

Frank pulled the grating out of the duct as quietly as he could, taking care to lay it on the metal without a sound. He’d only have a second.

He dropped down to the ground and almost fell from the slick of his boots on the wet floor, but before the guy could even turn Frank was on him, knocking him down and slamming his head into the floor. He struggled, and it was hard because the guy was soapy and slick and Frank was tired, muscles aching, but the adrenaline pushed him through and he hit back, even after the guy hit him where his cheek was still raw.

Frank headbutted him and the guy went limp, the spray of the shower hitting his outstretched palm. He was still breathing, chest rising shallowly underneath Frank’s thighs.

Gerard was still up in the duct, watching him.

“Come on,” Frank said, and turned away. The guy’s clothes were laid out on the main stretch of bench. He had a Slate jacket, which was too big for Frank, he could tell just by looking at it, but a black shirt which would fit him just fine, and which wasn’t spattered with blood.

He changed quickly, pulling the shirt over his head - it was hard, he was so sweaty and wet from rolling around on the floor - and when Gerard came up beside him Frank tossed him the jacket.

“Put this on,” he said, but Gerard didn’t, he just watched him, jacket hanging limp in his hand.

“Why are we running?” Gerard asked, steady, staring him down. “Does someone know who we are?”

“No, just - just put it on,” Frank said, going through the guy’s pockets. Nothing. Fuck, they probably hadn’t been paid yet - not enough rations, the other guy had said, needed to make up for lost cargo -

“Not until you tell me why, Frank,” Gerard said, in that obnoxiously calm voice of his, and Frank wanted to lash out, smack him right in the mouth so he’d stop asking questions. He didn’t, though, just flexed his hands once and released, exhaling.

“What’s the matter, don’t you trust me?” Frank asked, trying to grin while he grabbed the guy’s holster and threaded it through his own belt.

Gerard was silent. Frank ignored the way his chest hurt and tightened the holster loop instead.

“They’re going to be docking soon, and we need to get off this boat,” Frank said. “They’re not organized enough to notice us, if we don’t fuck up, so keep your head down and pretend you do this shit for a living.”

He pulled the hem of his shirt down in the back where it was sticking to his wet skin. When he turned, Gerard had the jacket on, adjusting his holster so it stayed out of sight. Gerard nodded and Frank turned to lead the way into the hall, locking the door from the outside with the keys Frank had taken from his pocket.

It was true, really - if you looked like you just didn’t give a fuck, it was amazing what you could get away with. Instead of feeling high with it, though, the way pulling one over on morons usually did, he felt sick and terrified. He hoped no one stopped them or he didn’t know what he’d say.

“Man, when we hit Ember, I’m going to fucking, I don’t know, I’m going to fucking _fuck_ ,” another guy in a Slate jacket said next to them, laughing as he pushed by them. His friend, a dude with blond, slicked-back hair, laughed and agreed, saying something about getting new girls for the vid screen. Frank smiled, indulging their good mood - interested, but not engaging, not judging. Acknowledged, not remembered.

The hall seemed to go on forever, but Frank could tell from the swell of the crowd that they were heading in the right direction. Frank kept wanting to stop someone, casually ask if they’d heard the new docking time, but his throat was too dry, like it was sealed shut. He stayed quiet.

A siren rang out in the hall, deep and blaring, and the lights in the track on the ceiling switched from white to red - they were approaching docking space, only minutes away. Frank joined the crowd and watched as the guys next to them yanked at the sockets in the wall to unfold seats, and he did the same. The buckle was heavy, clumsy in his hands, and when he finally fumbled it closed he clung to the straps, ignored the pains in his chest. Gerard was beside him, quiet, palms spread wide on his thighs.

The docking was rough - if they’d still been in the cargo hold with the other passengers, they’d probably have been knocked to the floor, fucking punks, fucking _amateurs_ , but Frank just planted his feet on the ground. Gerard didn’t say anything, just pushed his feet against Frank’s through the worst of it so he wouldn’t slide, would stay in place.

*

The Ember system. _Fuck_ the Ember system.

“We need to get the fuck out of here,” Frank said. “Immediately.” The docking station was slick, wide, with huge ceilings - it’d been a big deal, once, but the rust was starting to creep in, and the bolts around the windows out to space were green with age. People rushed by them to get out of the station and into the main drag of the colony, but Frank stayed put in front of the huge board with the flight information. It was constantly flickering with new information and he ran his eyes over it, trying to find an out. There was a ship leaving later that cycle, going out to the Hive -

“With what? How?” Gerard asked, yanking off the Slate jacket and bundling it up before tossing it forcefully in the garbage bin next to the board. He rolled his shoulders and pushed his hair off his face, sighing. “We don’t have any money, we haven’t eaten. Frank, we gotta just take a second and figure this shit out.”

“There’s a convenience station right there, right fucking there,” Frank said, jerking his head to the storefront across the street. “Give me ten minutes, and I’ll get us the fare.”

“And then you’ll get arrested by the deputy standing right outside,” Gerard said, frowning. “Can’t say I’m a fan of that idea.”

“What? Where?” Frank asked, peering over his shoulder. There was no one unusual, just some people milling about. Frank could take them.

“Plain clothes. Green shirt, black jacket, holster on the right.”

“How can you tell?” Frank asked, taking another quick look.

“How _can’t_ you?” Gerard asked, giving him that look again. “You’re not thinking clearly-”

“I’m thinking fucking clearly enough to know that we need to _get the fuck out of here_ ,” Frank hissed, but Gerard didn’t even flinch.

“I will get you out of here,” Gerard said. “Frank? I promise. But this is not the time for reckless. I did not just spend four cycles in that fucking tin can of a ship with some old dude drooling on my shoulder so we could get thrown in jail.”

Frank couldn’t say anything, he felt sullen and prickly and like he wanted to bolt, just fucking _go_ , but he made himself lock his knees and pull out a cigarette instead. Most of them were either crushed from being in his back pocket or soaked from the locker room floor, but there was one serviceable one left. He lit it against the top of the garbage bin and smoked it deep, exhaling the smoke up towards the pockmarked ceiling.

“Do you know this system?” Gerard asked, turning away from the flight information display. He was searching for something in Frank’s face, but Frank just took another drag.

“No,” Frank answered, flat. _No_.

Gerard was silent. He didn’t ask for a drag, but Frank passed it over anyway. Gerard’s hand was bleeding - he must have cut it in the air ducts, but hadn’t even said anything, and the blood was dried all around his knuckles. Frank hadn’t even noticed.

There was a lull in the docking station, a brief pause between rushes of bodies, and Frank wanted to reach out - wanted to say _something_ , check the cut on Gerard’s hand, but the loudspeaker screeched and announced another departure time and Gerard was looking away again, towards the exit doors, and the moment was gone.

“One cycle,” Gerard said. “And then we’re out.”

Frank exhaled. The filter was almost down to his fingers, but had one more drag - he passed it over and Gerard took it, crushing the stub under his boot when he was done. When he turned, Frank followed, and he braced himself against the rush of recycled air on the other side of the doors. One cycle.

*

Frank hated the buildings in Ember - they were too fucking straight, too fucking awake-looking, even braced against the curved ceiling of the colony. He missed the Grit, the way everything looked like it needed to lean on each other to stay upright.

“This place is too fucking clean,” Gerard said under his breath. They were outside a corner station and Frank watched through the window as a little girl breathed on the glass, staring up at him. Her mother was haggling with the shopkeeper over something with big arm motions, but the little girl just stared at him, and when Frank wiggled his fingers at her down by his side she grinned.

“Frank,” Gerard said, pulling his attention away.

“What,” Frank said. When he looked back the little girl and her mother was gone. There was just a tiny patch of fog on the door and smudges from her fingers.

“Look, why don’t you get a drink, sit for a sec,” Gerard suggested. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a few crumpled credit notes, but Frank just stared at them in his outstretched hand.

“Where the fuck did you get those?” he asked. Gerard had credits this whole time? But -

Gerard just rolled his eyes. “I told you, that dude in the cargo bay drooled on me for four fucking cycles. I considered it his...form of payment,” he said, a little wryly, and gestured with them towards Frank. “It’s not a lot, but we won’t starve today. I’m going to make a call, but I’ll be right back, all right?”

“If you bug Mikey on his honeymoon to wire us money, he’s going to be pissed,” Frank said.

“I’m not going to-” Gerard started, cheeks turning a little red. Frank raised an eyebrow. “He’s out by the Juna rings, anyway,” Gerard said. “They have terrible reception out there.”

“Uh huh.”

“And I think the last time I called they were having sex, I don’t know, I hung up pretty fast,” Gerard said.

“Uh huh,” Frank said.

“Just go get me a whiskey and try not to run into any fists, Christ.” Gerard turned to cross the street to the communication kiosk. He was totally going to try and call Mikey, Frank knew. He hoped he’d get through. Frank’d never had a brother, but he knew what Gerard and Mikey had was easy, familiar. Frank and Gerard weren’t easy.

The bar was dark, almost unpopulated at that point in the cycle, and smelled like old smoke and sweat. Frank immediately went to one of the back booths and slid into the seat, plastic creaking under his ass. A waitress came over and took his order - young, but didn’t look it, sad around the eyes - and as soon as she left he curled back into the shadows, out of sight.

He didn’t like being there, he didn’t like being there at _all_. The whiskey was warm, too, and a smudge of something was on the lip of the glass. Frank drank it anyway, and pushed the other one over to the empty spot for when Gerard got there. He chewed at the hangnail on his thumb until it bled and stared across the booth, keeping his mind clear. Trying to relax. One cycle. That’s all.

“Holy shit,” someone said from behind him, and Frank’s entire body went cold. “I don’t fucking believe it.”

Frank didn’t turn. He couldn’t.

“Frank Motherfucking Iero, well, fuck me sideways and call me pretty, it _is_ you,” the voice said, and realization hit Frank like a punch in the gut.

“Pedicone,” Frank said, shocked, turning in his seat.

“Iero,” Pedicone said, seriously, extending a hand. Frank reached out and Pedicone took it, pulling him to his feet into a bone-crushing hug that Frank was pretty sure made his ribs rub together.

“You stupid fuck,” Pedicone practically crowed, and Frank had to fight back the urge to cover his mouth to shut him up. “How’ve you been?”

“Alive?” Frank managed, and sort of half-pulled Pedicone out of the aisle and back into the booth, hidden from the rest of the customers. “You’re alive too, man, fuck.” Alive - a few more scars around his throat, and new ink scrawled on his arms, and he’d shaved his head again, but fuck, Pedicone. _Fuck_.

“No thanks to you, you cock,” Pedicone said, almost sounding happy about it. “You nearly left me for dead back at that Leonidas job.”

“About that,” Frank started. “I - yeah. Yeah.”

“You are the worst at apologizing,” Pedicone said, waving the waitress over. “Two more,” he said, gesturing to him and Frank. Frank opened his mouth and shut it again.

“I get that a lot,” Frank finally managed. “Look, you have to - you can’t be here. Right now.”

“Boyfriend’s back?” Pedicone said, smiling warmly up at the waitress when she came back with their drinks.

“I - what - no-” Frank said, stumbling. “I just- I’m meeting someone. For business.”

“You’d never meet someone for business someplace you didn’t know,” Pedicone said, brushing him off. “So don’t even try, you’re going to hang out with me and you’re going to fucking like it.”

“You are still a dickbag,” Frank mumbled.

Pedicone grinned a little, and leaned forward to wipe at something on Frank’s cheek, and Frank jerked back a little at the touch. Pedicone rubbed his finger on the table, wiping whatever it was off and onto the metal. “Blood on your face,” he said lightly. “Nobody really changes, do they.”

Frank held himself still, fingers paused on the shot glass. It was slippery in his hands, from where they’d overfilled it, and he could smell the whiskey on his skin.

“To ‘alive,’” Pedicone said, and raised his glass. Frank did the same.

“To ‘alive,’” he heard himself say, and they both kicked the shots back.

*

Frank felt good. He felt really fucking good, he felt fucking _great_. He had this. This was going to be great. He couldn’t remember why he’d been so stressed out earlier, it was such shit. Everything was okay.

Pedicone laughed, and his hand was warm on Frank’s face, the back of his neck. “No, fuck you, remember that time, with the, what was her name -”

“Courtney,” Frank said. He hurt from laughing. “With the - with the job over in, fuck, I don’t even remember, and that guy, from the list, she punched him so hard in the dick he almost threw up,” he said, wiping at his face - it was warm, he was so warm it was too much, almost hard to breathe.

“God, she was a stunner,” Pedicone said, sighing. “Think she’s out of the game, though, went into the force.”

“Shit, for real,” Frank said, resting his head on his palm, but it was hard, his head was too heavy. “My brain is too heavy,” he said. “I think I’m dying.”

“Or you’re drunk, you piece of shit,” Pedicone said, laughing again. “You a lightweight now? All settled down, it’s fucking adorable.”

“Am not,” Frank slurred.

“Settled down, or fucking adorable?” Gerard’s voice broke in, and when Frank turned in the booth there was a Gerard to go with the voice, standing by the edge of the table, looking down at them with raised eyebrows. “Because I’d have to argue with both.”

“It’s you,” Frank said, grinning happily. “Hello, you.”

“Hi,” Gerard said, but he didn’t slide into the booth next to Frank, which Frank didn’t like.

“Who’s your new friend?” Gerard asked, and it didn’t make any sense, until Pedicone shifted behind him and he realized that Pedicone’s leg was still over his lap, which was taking up most of the seating. No room for Gerard. That wouldn’t work.

He shoved at Pedicone’s thigh until both of his boots hit the floor, and pulled at the edge of Gerard’s jacket until he finally folded into the seat next to him. “Old friend,” he said, correcting him.

“Not that old,” Pedicone said, which made Frank laugh again, but Gerard just smiled, weird and tight-lipped. “Mike Pedicone,” he said, giving Gerard a little nod. “But everybody just calls me Pedicone.”

“Nice to meet you,” Gerard said. “Not often that we run into, ah, old friends of Frank’s.”

“That’s because he doesn’t have a lot of ‘em,” Pedicone said. “Never could get rid of me, though.” He punched Frank in the arm a little, and Frank elbowed him sharply in the chest, and when Pedicone pushed him away he kept his fingers on the crux of his arm.

“You want a drink, uh -” Pedicone started, and Gerard filled in the rest.

“Gerard,” he said. “And sure. Whiskey.”

“He’s my _person_ ,” Frank said, trying to whisper to Pedicone, but by the weird thing Gerard’s forehead did he didn’t think he succeeded.

“Is he now,” Pedicone said, and he grinned wide. “Is he the reason you’re back here?”

“No,” Frank said, frowning. They weren’t back. They were leaving. One cycle.

“Because last I heard, Frankie, you said you wouldn’t be caught dead here, and yet here you are, pretty and alive.”

Frank turned the empty shot glass in front of him and didn’t say anything.

Gerard leaned back against the booth and stretched his arm out so it laid across the top of the seat. Frank wanted to lean back into it, help steady his head, but he just kept turning the glass on the table.

“What do you do, Pedicone?” Gerard asked, and Frank was so grateful for the pointed change in subject he could barely breathe. “Hunt?”

“Hack, actually,” Pedicone said. “Always liked to put those nimble fingers to use, wasn’t that right, Frankie?”

“Was that mouth of yours that always got you into trouble, pretty sure,” Frank said, and it came out harsher than he meant it, but he was glad. Pedicone knew things - knew _him_ , or at least parts of him, but that didn’t mean he got to act like it - not in front of Gerard.

“Speaking of trouble,” Pedicone said, still smiling, glass half-full in his hand, “Frankie here tells me you two are looking for a job.”

“Does he, now,” Gerard said, sounding surprised but mostly displeased. “How thoughtful of him.”

“Look,” Pedicone said, leaning in closer to the two of them. “Here’s the thing - I know what Frank can do, and I’m assuming you can, too, and I could use a couple of guys like you with me on this.”

“We can’t -” Frank started to say, instinct twisting his gut. It has seemed like a good idea when he’d mentioned it, earlier, on the third round, but this wasn’t good, this couldn’t be good - there was too much there, too much to get in the way, and they were leaving, Gerard had said, one cycle and then they were gone -

“How much?” Gerard asked, leaning forward so that his arms crossed on the slick table. Frank wrapped both of his palms around the shot glass and pressed it steady, half-wishing it would shatter in his hands and they wouldn’t be able to talk anymore.

Pedicone gave a quick, cursory glance over the rest of the bar, and grinned. “Thirty thou,” he said. “Each.”

Thirty thousand. Sixty thousand together. More than enough.

Frank didn’t want it.

“We’re in,” Gerard said. “What’s the job?”

*

“I hate you,” Frank said.

“No you don’t,” Gerard said. “You hate whiskey.”

“I hate _whiskey_ ,” Frank said. “Stupid whiskey, stupid lying whiskey, stupid plying me with whiskey _whiskey_.”

Gerard pushed at his chest until he fell back on the bed and Frank groaned, stretching out on the sheets. “Oh god, fuck, is this a bed,” Frank said, half moaning. “I stopped believing in beds.”

Gerard tugged at Frank’s ankles, yanking at the straps of his boots until they slid off, and Frank’s feet felt incredible in the freezing air of the room through the holes of his socks on the balls of his feet. “Believe it. Your friend paid for it, thank him,” Gerard said.

“I hate him.” Frank stretched his whole body out to try and touch as much of the bed as possible. “Worst friend. Excellent taste in beds, though.”

Gerard was silent - even though Frank had his eyes closed, he could hear his clothes rustling, so he must be stripping down. They’d been in the same clothes for cycles, they were fucking _rank_ , both of them.

“Does this place have a shower? I will blow you so hard in that shower,” Frank said. “Come here. Warm up.”

Gerard made a little noise, but didn’t say anything. He was quiet as he undressed, too, which was weird, because normally he wanted to tell Frank every single fucking thing inside of his brain when Frank was trying to sleep.

“Do you know this system, Frank?” he finally asked. He wasn’t in bed, and by the sound of his voice he was still in the corner of the room. Frank hadn’t heard any metal clinking against the floor, so he was probably still holding his clothes in his hands.

“Wish I didn’t,” Frank said, words loose in his mouth.

The bed shifted next to him as Gerard finally climbed in, and Frank immediately turned to him so Gerard could start tugging at his sleeves, pulling his clothes off over his head and tossing them into the pile in the corner. Gerard’s hands were freezing but whiskey always made Frank’s skin run even hotter, so it felt good, prickly and cool.

“Were you - were you and Pedicone - like -” Gerard started, and it was so awkward it didn’t even sound like him.

“You’re not allowed to ask me questions when I’m the only one who’s drunk,” Frank said, shoving his pants down his thighs and kicking them off the bed. He rolled on his side away from Gerard, curling his knees up. “‘S’not fair.”

“I’m sorry,” Gerard said. He only said that when he meant it, so Frank forgave him.

“S’okay,” Frank said, reaching behind him in the dark for Gerard’s hand - he pulled it around him until Gerard had to roll with the motion, press closer. He bit down on Gerard’s knuckle, probably a little too hard, and then curled his body so his cheek and bare chest pressed against the cold sheets.

He was just about to pass out when he thought Gerard mumbled something - It’s not, is it - something, something, but he couldn’t focus enough to be sure, didn’t care enough to try. He fell into sleep, finally, and let the dark pull him down, and if he dreamed, he didn’t remember it by morning.

*

“Good God, Iero, I don’t know how it’s possible to look both better and worse the morning after, but you are certainly giving it a try,” Pedicone said, hands on his hips. “A noble effort.”

“Punch you in the dick,” Frank mumbled, and closed his eyes again.

“He had a shower. And a shave. And a hangover,” Gerard said, sighing a little.

“Punch _you_ in the dick,” Frank said.

“Beautiful creature, isn’t he,” Pedicone said.

“Charming,” Gerard replied.

“Punch _everybody_ in the-”

“Now, about the job,” Pedicone cut Frank off. “We don’t have much time on this, it’s lucky you ended up here when you did. We have to move on this fast.”

“Tonight, right?” Gerard scanned his hand over the blueprints Pedicone had spread over the table, and Frank watched through slitted eyes. Gerard paused, palm spread wide, like he was measuring the space through his skin.

“Yeah. They're putting in some new security systems later this week. We gotta hit this now,” Pedicone said. "I need you guys in there with me to cover my back."

“How long do we have to get in and out?” Gerard asked. “This space is huge.”

“Thirty minutes, tops. The building is like a maze but the maintenance entrance here will take you right through the back, if you’ve got the code,” Pedicone explained, pointing out something on the blueprints. “And you don’t need the code when you’ve got me.”

“When do we get paid?” Gerard asked, looking up at Pedicone. Frank made sure to voice his support of the question by grunting a little.

“After we deliver the goods. We should be in place by twenty-two, and I’m meeting with the suppliers at twenty-three forty-five, so there’s really no time for error. Luckily we don’t have to sit on the stuff for a while in case anybody wants to search it out,” Pedicone answered. “You can be there for the exchange, then we split and go our separate ways, and you never have to be caught dead here again.”

Gerard sat back against the bench, thinking, but Frank leaned forward to look at the plans. “If you’re hacking, why can’t you do it from out here?” he asked, squinting at the white lines.

“I tried that already. They’ve got a keycode that switches out every couple of ticks, which I can bust easily enough, but you need a physical version of the key to switch on their mainframes. I swiped a copy of the key months ago, but I gotta do the actual hacking from the inside,” Pedicone said, sighing. “Trust me. My ego aches.”

Frank scratched at his nose a little and leaned back in the seat against Gerard. “You expecting trouble with this?” he asked, looking up at Pedicone.

“If I didn’t want trouble, I’d be a fucking welder like my father, half-rotting on some satellite somewhere,” Pedicone said. “Can we handle whatever these dumb fucks decide to throw our way? Yes.”

“Yes.” Frank chewed on his nail a little, turning the job over in his mind. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Good,” Pedicone said, starting to roll up the blueprints. “See you guys back here tonight.”

*

Frank didn’t admit it to Gerard, but he was almost glad for the hangover - the throbbing in his temples gave him something to focus on besides the job, besides the fact that they were in Ember, _still_ in fucking Ember, and it stopped Gerard from asking him any more questions Frank didn’t want to answer.

“You good to do this?” Gerard asked, sitting at the end of the bed and swapping out the power core to his gun, locking it into place with a snap.

Frank was lying on his back, eyes closed - he felt fine, now, hours later, but was still trying to hold onto the place where his mind was blank, elsewhere. “I’m good,” he said, propping himself up to look down the bed at Gerard. “Let’s do this fucking job and just get the hell out of here, okay?”

Gerard looked at him, took in his whole face, then nodded. “On a ship tonight,” he said. “Wherever you want to go.”

"Second star to the right and straight on 'till morning," Frank said, falling back on the bed.

"Those are terrible directions," Gerard said, not looking up from his gun, scratching carbon out of the grooves with his nails. "How are you supposed to know which star is the origin point?"

"I don't know," Frank said.

"Where do they lead?" Gerard asked.

"I don't remember," Frank said. "Somewhere else."

*

The job turned out to be so fucking easy it was almost a joke. The keypad to the back door practically purred underneath Pedicone’s hands and the security detail was on the complete other side of the building, just like they'd timed it. Pedicone’s read-out of the security feeds showed that no alarm of any kind was alerted, even when they flipped the keys and ran the hack.

Frank was ready to chew his hand off, by the end - it was almost fucking _boring_ watching Pedicone stare down at the mangled mass of wires and portable screens in his hand, tapping in numbers and sequences, frowning a little when a new protected code came up. Frank was glad for it, though - boring was okay, just for a second, boring was easy, easy was good.

Pedicone grinned wide when he pulled the disc out, and even Gerard cracked a smile, which he never did on jobs, not till it was really done, really good and over, and it made the knot in Frank’s gut loosen, just enough.

“That was easy,” Frank said, raising his eyebrows.

“I just made it _look_ easy, you lazy fuck,” Pedicone said, grinning as they moved back down the maintenance hall and out the back door. “Now it’s time for you to reap the benefits, which I know is your specialty.”

“Nah, just my favorite part.” Frank couldn’t help but grin a little too. They were so close to being gone, to getting the hell out, and maybe, just for once, something would work out the way it should.

*

When Pedicone led them to the meet-up area Frank wanted to groan - it was too dark, too many of the bulbs in the ceiling of the colony were burnt out and hadn’t been hit by a replacement crew. Too many shadows. Pedicone had always been shit at the logistics like this, he must not have picked it himself.

"Keep close," Gerard said, almost under his breath to Frank. They flanked Pedicone on both sides, guns out and ready.

“You were supposed to come alone,” a voice said, and both Gerard and Frank immediately aimed their guns at the direction of the noise.

“Cool it, guys,” Pedicone said, smooth as anything. “I needed some back-up,” he said, directed towards the source of the voice. “Wanted to make sure the job was done right."

“You succeeded?” the voice asked, and the speaker finally walked forward into the light. Pretty young guy, suit - a real suit, with real buttons - glasses, close-cropped hair. Frank could tell from the footsteps, though, that there was someone else.

“Make your friend step forward too,” Frank said. “I wanna see that pretty face."

The suit was silent, then nodded, and his companion stepped forward - definitely some kind of bodyguard. Too rough around the edges, and in a jacket that looked too familiar to Frank to ignore, but he couldn’t quite tell, not in the bad light -

“You have the disc,” the suit said, like it wasn't a question.

“Right here,” Pedicone said, holding it up so the reflected side caught the light, glinted against the suit's glasses. “You got the credits?”

“Yes,” he said. “I assume your man wants to count them?”

“You assume correctly,” Pedicone said. The suit nodded and his guard reached into the inner pocket of his jacket - Frank could see a holster, slung low on his hip - and pulled out a credit book, tossing it to Gerard. The motion made him shift more into the light and Frank could finally see the patch on his arm. It was a little burr, almost like a starburst, deep branded into the leather on his shoulder, and it hit Frank so hard in the gut he was almost sick with it - couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move.

“Well, then, it was a pleasure - gentlemen, if you’ll excuse us-” Pedicone started, but Frank didn't lower his gun, speaking before he could think.

“Thistle,” Frank said, staring ahead at the bodyguard. “Thistle colonies. You work for them.”

The suit was silent, but the guard just shrugged. “So?"

“What’s on that disc?” Frank asked.

“Frank, man, don’t-” Pedicone said, turning a little towards him. “Just leave it, man.”

“What’s on the fucking disc, _man_ ,” Frank said, voice rising.

“I don’t believe that was part of the deal,” the suit said, calm.

Frank aimed his gun right at the guard’s head. “What’s on the fucking _disc_.”

The suit didn't say anything, and Frank was filled with so much - so much _anger_ he didn't know what to do with it, felt like his skin was going to vibrate right off his bones. The next thing he knew the gun was hot in his hands, and the disc was shattered - he'd shot it right out of the fucker's hands, and the pieces on the floor caught the light from the bulbs above them.

"The _fuck_ , Frank!" Pedicone yelled.

"They work for the Thistle colonies," Frank said, and Gerard was next to him, had moved to stop him, but Frank knew when he froze in place. Gerard’s gun was out, not aiming at anything, but Frank could tell he was staring at Frank's face, eyes wide. Frank didn't look over at him.

" _So_?" Pedicone said. "They fucking paid us, man!"

" _So_ , they're full of shit. Whatever they're in, you don't want to be."

"But the disc!" Pedicone said. "You fucked us, you totally fucked us, there's no deal if there's no disc."

"The deal still stands," the suit said. "The cargo remains the same." He was creepy as fuck, all clean lines and flat voice, and Frank wanted to bloody his mouth up but he just squeezed his fist by his side.

"What?" Pedicone asked. "How can you-"

Frank's mind was whirring, tumbling over itself to fit things into place. Thistlers, they were fucking Thistlers, they didn't care about the disc - "It's not about the disc," Frank said. "It's about Pedicone."

The suit was silent, but Frank knew, he _knew_ he was right. "What's the matter, you shits, trafficking people doesn't pay like it used to? Need someone who can just wire the money in, fill in the gaps?"

Pedicone took a halted step back. "What?"

"You're the deal," he said to Pedicone. "It was a test."

"Satisfactory marks all around," the suit said.

"I am going to shoot you in the face and then I am going to steal that suit," Frank said.

"Frank," Gerard said, and he could hear the warning in his voice.

"It's a nice suit," Frank said. "I don't like to waste."

"If you try and shoot me you will die," the suit finally said. "I came here for our cargo. You proved yourself capable, and you two - you've been paid - feel free to keep it as an extension of our deal. We'll be leaving, and we'll be leaving with him."

Pedicone tried to take another step back but froze and Frank could hear it, now, the near-impossible hum of several guns turned on and pointed their way.

"You think I'm going to let you take him?" Frank asked. "You really fucking think I’m going to let you pay me off and take him away?"

"You are thieves, are you not?" the suit asked. "Scum, bounty hunters, pirates. Why wouldn't you?"

"Do you know who the fuck I am?" Frank said, and he was practically laughing, now, loud and harsh, "Do you know who the fuck you are talking to?"

"Like I said - scum, bounty hunters, pirates," the suit said, sounding bored.

"All that and more, you little shit - I am Frank fuckin' Iero," he said. "And I am going to shoot you in the fucking face, and I am going to fucking like it, and I will take that fucking suit and I will wear it better than you."

"Fuck," the bodyguard gasped, and Frank knew the sound in his voice, it was fucking fear.

"That's right, motherfucker, you know. You _know_. Now you take your boss and all those shitstains hiding in the shadows and you get the fuck out of here," Frank said.

"I'm afraid we can't do that," the suit said, but Frank could tell the bodyguard was rattled. He tried to count the noises around them, count the men they had in the shadows, but he couldn't concentrate, just hoped that Gerard had his back.

"Mr. Pedicone," the suit said. "It would be easier if you didn't make us shoot you first, but we will. And your friends. This way, please."

"Pedicone don't you take another step," Frank said.

"I'm sure we could work something out," Gerard said, speaking over Frank, and Frank's gut lurched. He shot him a look and Gerard met his eyes - but no, wait - he'd counted the men, knew how many there were. Frank tightened the grip on his gun.

"Yeah, like, maybe if you sucked my dick first," Frank said, turning to look back down the alley, "I'd be more down for letting you go."

"You are such a gross little man," the suit said, finally sounding displeased, and Frank grinned, because - well, yeah.

Gerard shifted next to him, boots barely moving on the grating, but Frank knew, knew it was coming, and as soon as Gerard twitched he grabbed Pedicone's collar and yanked him down.

Gerard fired, and immediately there was a rain of gunfire, shots whizzing over them, and Frank shoved Pedicone between them, back-to-back.

"Go!" Gerard said, and his gun rang out, shots firing off the walls. There was a guy in front of them with a gun, firing at them, but he missed, and his plasma core was burnt out, fucking _amateur_. Frank barreled into him, knocking him to the ground and jumping off his chest to get the fuck out of there.

Shots still followed them out the alley, and there were more men, more fucking Thistlers -

“Pedicone, down!” Frank called, and Pedicone hit the floor, stumbled and barely caught himself from rolling completely. Frank fired and missed, but Gerard was there, picked the shooter off right between the eyes, and the guy crumpled, smashing into a stack of cargo bins as he fell.

“Run!” Gerard yelled, and Frank grabbed Pedicone’s arm as they ran, hauling him to his feet. He could hear Gerard firing off behind him, and people crying out, but he didn’t look back, kept running. They were almost to the docking station, so close, so fucking _close_ -

Footsteps, pounding against the grating, coming in on the left - he shoved at Pedicone, getting him out of the way, and felt the burn immediately in his arm, and he fell and skid down across the grating.

“Frank!” Pedicone cried, freezing, but Frank just rolled and fired immediately, sending off six shots before he even had time to aim. He hit his target, though, and the guy - the suit’s bodyguard, in the fucking Thistle jacket - cried out but slumped down, silenced, a gaping hole in his throat.

Frank pushed himself up and forward, putting himself between Pedicone and the crew behind him again, but when he turned to look over his shoulder there was no one there.

“Gerard!” he called out, immediately freezing, heart thudding in his chest, Pedicone a few steps ahead. “Oh god, Gerard-”

Gerard leaped over a stack of cargo bins, coming hard around the corner. “I’m here, fuck, give a guy a second to make some headshots, Jesus,” he said, breathing heavily. There was blood on his neck, a burn on his hand, but he was good, he was okay.

Frank wanted to kiss him, he was so relieved, but it wasn’t the time. He just turned and led them down the passage to the docking station, which was crammed full of people trying to find passage.

“We need to split up,” Gerard said, as soon as they got inside the arching metal doorway to the main sector. “Pedicone, can you -”

“I have some people who can hide me for a bit, lay low,” Pedicone said, panting. “You can come with me, they can-”

“No,” Frank said. _No_. “We need to get the fuck out of here.”

Pedicone just nodded. “You guys good? I just - fuck, I can’t believe that just happened. I - I think I almost got caught dead here.”

“Lay low, don’t take any jobs for a while,” Frank said. “Get out of here when you can. This place is shit.” Gerard was a few steps behind him and Frank turned to go, turned to run.

“Frank-” Pedicone started, and Frank froze, looked back.

“What?” he asked.

“Just - thanks,” Pedicone said. There was a gash along his shoulder from a missed shot, and the skin was red and cracked.

“It’s nothing, man-” Frank said, but Pedicone stopped him.

“You saved my fucking life,” he said. “I owe you. I _owe_ you.”

Frank didn’t know what to say. “Just don’t get shot in the face, I won’t hang out with you if you’re ugly and dead,” he said, and Pedicone broke into a grin. Frank turned, then, and he and Gerard slid into the throng of the crowd.

“What the fuck are we going to do?” he asked, when he finally caught up to Gerard's side.

“I’m not letting anyone else choose where we go this time,” Gerard said, looking around the bay. “We’re going to steal a ride and we’re going to get the fuck out of here.”

“That’s more like it,” Frank said, and followed him down the port.

*

The ship they stole was a piece of shit, all things considered. The previous owner - a fat drunk who was too stoned to even notice when they slipped behind his seat on the dock and into the ship - obviously hadn’t spent a lot of time on upkeep, but the engines turned on, and it _worked_ , and at that moment nothing else fucking mattered.

Frank didn’t even realize he was holding himself tense in the seat beside Gerard until Ember was nothing but a blue dot on the radar on the dash, quickly fading behind them, and he numbly realized that his hands were aching from where they were curled tight around the sides of the metal frame.

He shook them out a little, cracked the knuckles and leaned back in his chair, grinning and looking over at Gerard. “So what do you say, Gee? Second star to the –“

“Shut _up_ ,” Gerard said, like he couldn’t stop himself, and Frank froze. “Just – Frank, don’t – don’t start, just –“ he went quiet and his mouth went tight, like whenever it did when he was frustrated that he couldn’t get the words out right. His knuckles were white around the thrust controls.

Frank stayed still in the seat. “Fine,” he said, lightly. “You pick the directions.”

“What the fuck _happened_ back there,” Gerard said, finally turning away from the radar screen to look at him.

“You mean the part where I saved our lives? Again? As I am fucking wont to do?” Frank said, crossing his arms over his chest and sinking back into the chair.

“I mean the part where you went to fucking pieces and nearly got us all killed,” Gerard said. “And don’t lie to me.”

“I don’t lie to –“

“Yes you do,” Gerard said, which was true, sometimes, but not when it really mattered. This didn’t matter. This was stupid.

“Well I’m not lying now, and you’re a fucking prick,” Frank said. “What the fuck do you want me to say?”

“I don’t want you to – I don’t want you to gloss over this or ignore it or fucking laugh it off, or whatever. I want you to tell me _why_.”

Frank opened his mouth but shut it again. That wasn’t fair. This was fucking ridiculous.

“Frank,” Gerard said, and he didn’t sound angry anymore, just defeated. He shoved his hair back off his forehead but paused with his hand on the back of the skull, turned back to look out the wide, thick windows towards the black.

"The Thistle colonies do most of their trafficking through Ember," Frank said. "And give Ember a cut to turn the other way. It's a bad fucking place, and Thistlers are shits." He felt weirdly hollow and his voice was small and there was more, there. The words were in his throat, but he shut his mouth before he could blurt something else out. It was all he could manage.

Gerard sighed, but it wasn't the same kind as before. Accepting. "Okay," he said, turning to look back over at Frank. "We don't have to go back. Check on the supplies in the bay and I'll see what systems look like a good place for us to stop, okay?"

Frank just nodded and pushed up from the chair. He didn't feel okay, but it felt better than before, when Gerard had turned away and he'd sounded so disappointed, like he'd expected _better_ from Frank, and again found him wanting.

It didn't sit right - he'd never cared before. He wasn't better, never claimed to be, but Gerard turning away had felt like white knuckles around his ribs, squeezing the words out, and he felt strangely hollow in the aftermath.

*

There were more than enough rations in the storerooms – the previous fat, drunk-ass owner liked to eat and drink more than most, so they were set for a while, but Frank took an extra long amount of time taking the inventory and reorganizing the asshole's terrible shelving system. It gave him something to do with his hands, a way to turn off his brain for a tick.

He finally left when the orange lights in the floor dimmed, signifying the start of the sleep cycle, and Frank used the low light by his feet to guide him back to the cockpit. He was about to knock on the door to let Gerard know he was going to bed – Gerard probably wouldn't join him, he usually didn't at first, especially not right after setting a new course, but it was habit more than anything.

He could hear the tell-tale hum of the vid screen, though, before he even got to the door, and he knew he shouldn’t eavesdrop, but fuck it, they’d already established he wasn’t perfect. He pressed close, cheek against the cool metal, and stayed quiet.

“I don’t know what to do,” Gerard was saying.

“Did you talk to him?” Mikey’s voice asked. Mikey. Frank didn’t breathe. They were talking about him.

“I tried, but I think I fucked it up. I just – you should have seen his _face_ , back there. It was like a completely different person, like he’d just shut off, and he won’t tell me _why_.”

"What _did_ he tell you?" Mikey asked.

"That the Thistlers traffic through Ember," Gerard said. "And I know he has history with them - he told us the first time we met him about how he almost got sent to the Thistles, and turned his parents in for trying to sell him off. But those Thistlers practically shit when they heard Frank's name. There's something else."

Frank's gut lurched. Gerard knew there was more. He'd said it was okay, but he knew Frank had lied. Gerard was quiet, and Frank could almost imagine him running his hand through his hair.

“If he wants to tell you, he will, and if he doesn’t, he won’t,” Mikey said, calm as ever. “Sometimes pulling things out into the open is worse.”

Gerard sighed, and leaned back in the chair. “I guess. I don’t know. I’m just – worried about him.”

There was a silence in the room, which meant that they hadn’t stopped talking, necessarily, just were doing that freakish thing where they looked at each other a lot and knew what the other was thinking.

Frank had his whole body practically pressed against the wall, listening for his breaths through the door, anything Gerard might murmur. There was a low mumble, finally, something under his breath, and Mikey let out a little amused noise, in that fond way he always had when talking to Gerard.

“How’s the Juna system?” Gerard finally asked, moving on to another subject and Frank felt both relieved and so angry he wanted to go there and shake him until he told him what he’d said, what he’d said about Frank.

He finally had to push back from the wall and head back to the main bunk, whole body buzzing from the conversation. _Worried about him_. It kept sticking in his brain, like a splinter. _Worried about him_. There was nothing to worry about. Frank had handled it. They were safe. Nobody had to _worry_ about him. Nobody had ever _worried_ about him, and he was strangely angry that Gerard would do that, would go out of his way to feel bad over something that didn’t matter, wasn't his business. That was fucking bullshit. He didn't have the fucking right.

The bunk room was cold, even compared to the rest of the ship. The bed smelled sweaty, too, like it hadn’t been washed in a while, but he didn’t care. He just toed his boots off and dropped his jacket to the floor and crawled under the covers, wrapping them tight around him until it was warm, could feel his own breaths against the cloth.

 _Worried about him_. The anger faded to a thrumming sense of guilt, and he hated it, hated that he couldn't stay angry when he should, when Gerard was talking about him to Mikey and making him feel shitty, stupid things. Nobody had ever worried about Frank. _He_ didn't even worry about Frank. Gerard didn’t get to do that.

He didn't fall asleep for a while, and when he did Gerard still wasn't in the bed. When he woke up the other side of the bed was mussed, but cold, and there was another blanket from the closet dragged out and over Frank’s shoulders.

Frank left his jacket and his boots off when he padded out of the room and to the bathroom. He pissed and then scrubbed his face, behind his ears - there was some dried blood on his cheek that definitely wasn’t his - and ran a hand over his face, just feeling the stubble against his palms. He looked like _shit_ , like he hadn’t slept at all.

He stopped by the little kitchen - no chairs to tie prisoners up to, pity - and rooted through the shallow metal cabinets until he found the dehydrated coffee. He'd had real coffee, once, years ago, so hot it burned his whole mouth, and he almost wished he'd never tried it, if only so he'd never have to be reminded whenever he had to drink the powdered fake shit how good the real stuff was. He'd tongued the burns in his mouth for days afterward, remembering.

But he made two cups and headed to the cockpit, where Gerard was hunched over some print-outs of the star maps, grease pencil in hand. Gerard didn’t hear him, totally absorbed in the work, and Frank could see from across the room that his fingers were stained and black under his nails, which meant he'd probably spent more time distractedly doodling in the margins and furiously wiping them away then actually plotting anything.

 _Worried about him_.

Frank put the cups down on the counter by the door and crossed the room to slide in front of Gerard on the dash, hands behind him on the cool metal. Gerard looked up at the intrusion, blinking - he obviously hadn't slept, and half of his hair was sticking up more than the other, probably where he'd had his hands in it all night - and Frank leaned in and kissed him. Gerard jerked back a little in surprise but then his hands were immediately in Frank's hair, on the side of his face, pulling him close, and Frank folded down until his knees hit the metal.

*

Later, when Frank was in the bathroom washing the come off his neck, he had to stop and stare at the black smudges from the grease pencil - black fingerprints on his hips though the eye of the swallow, the collar of his shirt, jawbone, cheek and lips, inside his mouth. He ran his tongue over it, tasting, and then washed and spit in the sink. He left the ones on his hips, though, just tugged his shirt lower as he went back to the cockpit to where Gerard was sleeping, slouched back and rumpled in the chair.

*

Four cycles to the Tyche system, at least, and then fifteen past the line to the actual satellite. Quiet, under the radar, and the perfect place to lie low. No history of anything, or at least of them, and Frank couldn’t wait to get there.

He didn’t know if they’d somehow hit upon a truce, or just an understanding, but he wasn’t pressing it. Gerard hadn’t brought up Ember again, and like fuck if Frank was going to spend his time dwelling on it. Gerard watched the projected star maps, making sure they held true, and Frank picked over the ship, looking for anything they could sell off when they got to Tyche. It was a mid-sized ship, with plenty of room for cargo, but it was rusted and rank and filthy, and his haul was pretty pathetic.

“The dude who owned this ship before us was a little gross,” Gerard said. “A lot gross.”

“So gross,” Frank said, peering in the cabinet over Gerard’s shoulder. “I didn’t know you could dehydrate that.”

“I don’t think that’s dehydrated,” Gerard said, squinting at the bag on the shelf. “I think it’s just old.”

“Oh god, close the fucking cabinet,” Frank said, shoving at his arm.

“Oh fuck, wait,” Gerard said, reaching in even as Frank pulled on him. “Look, I think there’s a dead rat in here, dinner is served--”

“I am going to murder you,” Frank said, jabbing a hand into his ribs, “and make it look like an accident. A terrible accident, and everyone will laugh that you died like a fucking nerd.”

Gerard laughed, pulling back from Frank’s hands and using his elbows to protect his sides. Frank had just gotten his hands up under the hem of his shirt - this was easy, this was so easy, Gerard was actually smiling, this was good - when there was a noise like a gunshot, rattling the whole ship, and the lights flickered out, then came back on, dimmer.

“The fuck was that,” Gerard whispered, frozen in place.

Frank held tight to Gerard’s shirt, knuckles against his skin. “I don’t know,” he said, but he did. Something bad. It was _always_ something bad.

*

Frank coughed, and black smeared across his palm. _Fuck_. He wiped it off on the thigh of his pants and shoved back out of the duct, down the chute and out of the maintenance port. He landed on the ground a little off-balance, but Gerard grabbed his arm before he tipped.

Frank coughed again, and Gerard frowned. “The fuck, Frank-”

“Too much carbon,” Frank said, spitting on the ground. Still black. “I checked the engines and the wiring. The generator’s jacked to shit. There’s no way we can get it back on before we hit Tyche.”

Gerard shivered, and crossed his arms in front of him. “Well, that blows.”

“Much like the fuses, yes.”

“How long will the engines hold?” Gerard asked.

“They should last until we get there, as long as we cut out the extra stuff. We have to keep her going or we’ll be dead out here.”

“What extra stuff?” Gerard asked. “Non-essentials?”

“Vid screens,” Frank said. “Hot water. Heating. The emergency lighting, engines, and some of the temperature regulators are running on the back-up generator, so they’re good, but the power’s going to be lower.”

Gerard scrubbed his hands through his hair. “ _Fuck_.”

“Yeah, pretty much,” Frank said, and crossed his arms in front of his chest, too. It’d been too easy. Of course it’d been too fucking easy. The cold was already starting to seep into his bones, making them ache, and he shuddered a little.

Gerard sighed, and Frank could just barely see his breath. _Fuck_.

*

The ship didn’t dim the lights to signify the start of the sleep cycle, anymore - it was all dimmed lights, and long shadows, and cold, dirty metal. The star map was still up, and the engines were still running, but they were halting, weak, and Frank wished he could do something more than just keep crawling through the fucking maintenance shafts every few ticks to make sure they kept rolling.

He picked another handle of whiskey out of the storeroom and brought it back to the cockpit, stumbling a little in the near dark. Gerard was up, leaning against the wall and sitting on the edge of the steps down to the big windows at the front of the ship. Frank edged in beside him, pressing their hips together. It took him a little while to undo the top of the bottle - his hands were cold, and it slipped in his grip - but he kept it steady and took a swig. It was warm, if cheap and thin, and he passed it over to Gerard, who did the same.

They sat in silence for a while, passing the bottle back and forth, before Gerard went still didn’t acknowledge him - Frank thought Gerard might have finally drifted to sleep, fucking finally, the mattress had been cold again when Frank woke up ticks ago - but then he heard Gerard sigh. Not disappointed, not one of those infamous ones, but something worse, something sadder.

“You ever seen the sun?” Gerard asked, still staring out the windows into the black.

“Which one?” Frank asked, and took a long swig of the whiskey. He offered the bottle back to Gerard, who waved it off with a little shake of the head.

“The first one,” Gerard said.

“Yeah, plenty of times. It’s a sun. It’s kind of hard to miss.” Frank shrugged, and turned to look back out the front windows.

“No, I mean - have you ever seen the sun not from out here? On Earth?” Gerard asked.

“I’ve never been to Earth,” Frank said. He’d grown up out in the black, like most of the people around, floating from one tin can to the next. Never even set foot on a planet. He’d seen pictures, though.

“Out here, all the stars look like little pinpricks of white in the black, like there’s this big curtain between us and all the light, and only these little rips show through. On Earth, though, you feel it, even in your skin when it burns, and if you look at it too long, it burns your eyes, too, like they’re boiling in your skull.”

“You can’t even look at it?” Frank asked, frowning. You could always see stars out here. Always. Could look as long as you wanted, and it didn’t hurt at all.

“No.”

“Sounds fucking lame.”

“It’s not. I miss it,” Gerard said, and once again Frank was reminded that Gerard was different, had known more than this. He’d probably had real coffee all the time, and now everything was dehydrated shit in comparison. Frank fidgeted with the lip of the bottle.

“Why?” Frank asked.

“Because it’s so beautiful.”

Frank scoffed. “You read too much poetry.”

“You haven’t stared into enough stars,” Gerard said.

“Maybe. Still got my eyes, though,” Frank said, lightly.

“One day maybe we’ll go back and I’ll show you.”

“Yeah, because burning my eyes and my skin off sounds like an awesome time,” Frank said, rolling his eyes. Gerard always got weirder after he’d been drinking, and especially when he hadn’t slept.

“Frankie, trust me - one day down there, and you’d be begging for it.” Gerard sounded far away again, and it bugged Frank, made him feel left behind. He brought him back by curling into him, pressing him down onto the floor and kissing him, biting his neck, working his hands under all the layers, made difficult by the cold and the whiskey. Gerard had to look at Frank, spread out for him like that, not the stars, not the black, not at shit that wouldn’t happen, and Frank was selfishly glad for it.

*

Frank was pretty glad the guy who’d owned the ship had been bigger - they’d found his extra clothes pretty fast, and even though wearing his shit made Frank feel gross (they fucking reeked) and like a fucking kid (the hems all came down to his thighs), it made it easier to layer against the cold of the ship.

“This sucks,” Gerard said, huddling close. His cheeks were pink where they showed over the scarf he’d looped around the neck of his jacket, hood up.

“At least you don’t look like you’re in a dress,” Frank said, and yanked a long-sleeved thing on over his head - the sleeves were so long they fell over the edge of his fingertips but he kind of liked it, although he was sure it made him look more like a kid than anything. He pulled on his other jacket and yanked the zipper up almost to his throat. Finally, fucking _finally_ he could feel himself starting to warm up.

“C’mon,” Gerard said, extending a hand. “If the map’s right, we should be in a cluster right about now. I’ve never seen one before, they’re supposed to be awesome.”

“They are,” Frank said, taking his hand, and let Gerard pull him back to the cockpit. They - they didn’t do things like this, hold hands like kids, or like other people, but the ship was dark and Frank was glad there was someone to guide him through the hall, even as the lights from the clusters sparking against the outside of the ship left little pockmarked lights along their feet.

*

Frank made it a point to avoid most of the mirrors in the ship, after a few cycles. His neck was red, raw from the edge of his jacket, and he looked exhausted, and Gerard didn’t fare much better, even though the bags under his eyes were so dark Frank sometimes couldn’t tell if they were real or shadows from the ship.

“You need a haircut,” Gerard said, though, one cycle. “You’re all scraggly.”

Frank ran a hand through his hair, and resisted the urge to wipe his palm against his pants. There wasn’t any use. He just shrugged.

“I don’t know, man,” Frank said. “Mostly I’d just kill for a razor.” He didn’t mind having a bunch of scruff, really - it made him look like he’d actually passed puberty, for one, and he liked the red marks it left on Gerard’s face - but it was starting to itch.

“I got scissors?” Gerard said. “Found them in the first aid kit under the sink. At least trim you up.”

Frank hesitated, then shrugged again. “Yeah, okay,” he said, and hopped off the table. “What else are we gonna do, right?”

Gerard was pretty good with scissors - his own hair was pretty much always a mess, although he usually tried to make sure it didn’t get in his eyes too much, in case there was a situation, but he was pretty good at not making it look someone’d just hacked away at his head. Better than when Frank tried to do it to himself, at least.

Gerard kept his hands on Frank’s head, turning his neck to the side to clip at the bits that had started to curl about his ears. Frank was pretty sure it wasn’t necessary for him to keep his fingers there the whole time, shifting with Frank’s motion, until his fingers were just little pressure points against his pulse, but Frank closed his eyes and just zoned out to the sound of Gerard moving around him, shifting close enough to blow the loose hair off the nape of his neck.

*

When Frank woke up again the bed was cold, Gerard’s weight against his back gone. Frank pushed up from the bed, a little dazed - but Gerard wasn’t anywhere in the room, either, and the door to the hallway was open.

The ship was quiet, creaking around him, but the engines were still humming low. Frank checked the cockpit, but it was empty, lit only by the flickering star map, and he moved on to the cargo bays and other bunking areas.

Even though he was looking for him it still scared the shit out of Frank to turn the corner in the extra bathroom and see Gerard in the shower stall, facing away from the door. He was clothed, but he’d taken his heavy jacket off. There wasn’t any water running, and he wasn’t moving, just standing, staring down at the floor.

“Gee,” Frank said, quietly, and Gerard kind of twisted to look back at him.

“Hey, Frankie,” he said, a little slurred, like it was half a sigh.

“What are you doing, Gee?” Frank asked, slowly coming closer.

Gerard was quiet. He ran a hand over his face, shoving his heels into his eyes. “I was - I was looking for something,” he said. “I think - I don’t-”

“Come back to bed,” Frank said, but Gerard just shook his head.

“I can’t sleep, I won’t -”

“It’s better than standing in an empty shower, Gee, come on,” Frank said, and stepped closer into Gerard’s space, lightly touched his arm.

Gerard always had trouble sleeping on long stints out in the black, like his body was always waiting for something to tell it he could actually lie the fuck down and turn off for a while. But never quite like this. Gerard seemed better at the touch on his arm, though - more grounded, eyes more focused. It always worked better when you touched him, instead of just trying to talk him out of it.

“Come on,” Frank said, tugging gently at his hand to steer him back to the main cabin. He had to practically pull him back into the bed, and wrap his arms around him to hold him down and in place, but eventually he settled, and Frank made sure to press some kisses to the line of his jaw, where he was holding it tense. He didn’t know if Gerard actually fell asleep, though - Frank eventually dropped off, totally exhausted, face still pressed to Gerard’s hair, but when he woke up again Gerard was gone, probably back to the cockpit to stare back out into the black, and Frank sighed.

*

Frank opened the can of coffee but it was empty. They didn’t have enough water to justify making the real stuff anymore, but if you rubbed the shit into your gums you could almost taste it. It was totally gone, though, and Frank could tell from the smudges around the creases of the can that Gerard had been digging in it, too, trying to get every last grind out. It didn’t matter, really, that it tasted like shit, it was still something, and Frank sucked the last bit of it out from under his nail before shoving the empty can to the side. He’d have to find him something else.

*

“Do you ever feel like it’ll just swallow you up, sometimes?” Gerard asked, turning his head slightly towards Frank. They were lying next to each other on the floor of the cockpit, practically pressed against the thick glass of the front windows. Frank couldn’t see his face, just shadows and some streaks of light on his eyes.

“What?” Frank asked. “This life?”

“The black,” Gerard said.

Frank shrugged. “Yeah.”

“Do you ever want it to?”

Frank paused, and watched Gerard’s eyes flick over the lights against the glass. “No.”

“Really?” Gerard asked, turning fully towards him. He was whispering, even though it was only the two of them for - light years, maybe, who knew, out in this quadrant. The feeling of that made Frank’s chest lurch a little, and he closed his eyes.

*

Frank woke up one cycle to cold hands on his hips, lips on his neck, biting down hard. He immediately rolled, pressing back into Gerard, and Gerard shoved at his pants to get his hands down under his waistband and on his cock.

“You’re so warm,” Gerard said, murmuring in his ear, and his voice was blurry and raspy, like he hadn’t used it in a while. “You’re always so fucking warm, Frankie, fuck,” he said, and his cold fingers on Frank’s skin made him practically choke on the inhale.

“Fuck me,” Frank said immediately. It was so cold in the room he already had goosebumps, starting at the bared skin of his hips all up to his chest, even underneath all of the layers of cloth. Gerard moaned against his neck, though, and shoved at his own pants, and the lube on his fingers was freezing, so fucking cold, Frank had to turn on his stomach to fist his hands in the pillow and stifle the noise he made.

Gerard had his other hand in Frank’s hair, holding his head down, he knew it made Frank crazy when he held him down, good crazy, especially with his fingernails leaving scratches on his scalp. Frank instinctively shoved back so Gerard had to lean harder into him, so hard Frank could feel the tension in his arms where Gerard’s elbow dug down into his back.

“Fucking do it,” Frank said, half-muffled by the sheets. Gerard shoved at his waistband enough to get his pants off his hips, long shirt up and rucked over the curve of his back, exposed to the air.

It wasn’t good, exactly, not at first - Frank was still too sleep-blurry, and Gerard’s skin was cold, so cold, it was hard to focus on anything else while he fucked him, but then Gerard pulled on Frank’s hips, changing the angle and moving him underneath him, and he practically covered Frank with his whole body, pressing him down into the sheets. The metal of his belt buckle was digging into the back of Frank’s right thigh, where his pants were shoved down, and Gerard was groaning, and eventually it was warm, and the layers between them were stifling, sticky.

Frank was sweating, the clothing sticking to the top of his back and between his thighs, everywhere their skin touched, and he wanted to yank at his shirts and jackets, nothing touching him but Gerard, but there wasn’t time, he couldn’t coordinate enough with Gerard still fucking him into the mattress.

“Come on, you fuck, come inside me, bet it’s fucking warmer than anything, I bet it’s fucking hot,” Frank said, gritting his teeth, and Gerard dug his hands into the flesh of his hips and groaned. Frank’s dick was hard, rutting against the mattress, and he just let himself fuck the sheets, not even trying to get himself off.

“Oh, fuck,” Gerard cried, and when he came Frank could _feel_ it, and it never got fucking old. It was hot and inside him and then Gerard was panting in his ear, practically collapsed on top of him, and Frank was hard, still so fucking _hard_.

Gerard pulled out and Frank gasped, the cold air hitting the sweat on his back, but Gerard immediately shoved an arm underneath him to flip him on the mattress, and it was colder, like that, all the bare, slick skin of his chest getting goosebumps in the room. Gerard covered him again, though, using his whole body to hold Frank’s legs down as he moved down to suck Frank’s dick, tongue long against the underside.

It was warm, so fucking warm, so fucking _hot_ , and he could still feel the heat from Gerard fucking him and the come slick between his thighs and ass, and he fisted his hands so hard in Gerard’s hair he almost pulled him off his dick, but Gerard just pushed forward and swallowed him deeper.

“Fuck, Gee, I’m gonna -” he choked out, and then he _was_ , and it felt so good, so fucking _good_ , and Frank couldn’t remember the last time he felt _good_ like this. When Gerard pulled off his face was red, flushed, and there was Frank’s come on his lip before he swiped at it with the back of his hand.

“Warm,” Gerard said, a little dazed. “You were right.”

Frank yanked at his arms, pulling him up, and kissed him, tasted himself in his mouth. Gerard opened for him, and they pressed together, sticky and sweaty as ever. It was still so fucking _cold_ , but Frank felt warm all over, right down to his stupid fucking heart, and wasn’t that just the fucking thing.

When Frank woke up again Gerard was in the bed, passed out, snoring a little, cheek pressed into the sheets and an arm slung over Frank’s waist. Frank just had to stare. Gerard looked exhausted, fucking rumpled and dirty and there was a streak of something by his mouth, and with the neck of his jacket open Frank could see the burn on his neck from a blast shot that never really healed. Frank almost couldn’t look at him because it made his body feel weird, weightless, like when the gravity kicked off sometimes in that old ship Frank used to have, the first one he ever stole.

“Gerard,” Frank said, quietly, but Gerard didn’t wake. “I have to tell you something,” Frank said, and he knew it, right in his gut - he had to, but more than that he _wanted_ to, and that was terrifying.

“Gee,” Frank said, and curled so he was almost over top of him, lightly moving the hair off of his face. Gerard twitched, letting out a sleepy, mumbled noise, and just turned more toward his palm. “Wake up or I will pull your eyelashes out,” he said, and Gerard groaned a little.

“What,” Gerard mumbled.

“I lied to you,” Frank said, voice flat, foreign, like it was someone else saying the words.

“S’okay,” Gerard said, and his lips were dry, but Frank stopped himself from doing something about it. He had to do this. Gerard tried to roll back over on the bed, pull Frank against his chest, but Frank stopped him.

“No, Gee. Listen. You have to listen. I lied to you. The first time we met,” he said, and he unconsciously tightened his fingers in the sleeve of Gerard’s shirt.

“I think we established that when you tried to shoot me in the head later,” Gerard said, still not paying attention, because he was a dick.

“No, Gee. About - about the Thistle colonies.” Even saying it made that same rush of anger swell under his skin, but he ignored it, pushing it down.

Gerard opened his eyes at that, surprised. He was quiet a moment, obviously trying to make himself wake up enough to figure out what was going on. “Did your parents not try to sell you off?” he asked after a moment, frowning.

“No, they -” Franks started, and then stopped. He had to force it out, physically force it out, and he almost choked on it. “They did.”

Gerard frowned, obviously not understanding, and Frank hated that he couldn’t just leave it, actually had to fucking explain, but he couldn’t take it back now.

“They did. They didn’t try - they did. I got shipped off there.”

Gerard’s eyes opened at that, and he tried to sit up, but Frank pushed him back down on the bed. He couldn’t handle anything right now. He just needed to Gerard to stay still, and to - let him. Say this.

“Two years,” Frank said. “I was there for almost two years, and it was - it was the worst. It was the worst fucking thing, and my own parents had _sent_ me there, for something that wasn’t even my fault.” He felt weirdly hysterical, like laughing or something, fuck. Real family didn’t do that. Real family didn’t just throw you away like that, like you were garbage. Frank might’ve been garbage to everybody else in the black but it shouldn’t have fucking mattered, that one should have at least stuck.

“Why did that Thistler know who you were?” Gerard asked, barely above a whisper.

“I got out,” Frank said, and it was weird, because it came out so deadpan, and dry, when his insides were writhing. “I was fifteen years old and I was going to die in there, if I didn’t get out, and I was fucking crazy, they made me fucking crazy - and I was the only one who ever really did get out, and I killed a whole fucking lot of them to do it, and then I turned my parents in and they’re still rotting in a jail cell somewhere and I’m not sorry.”

“I’m not sorry either,” Gerard said immediately, and something inside Frank - it didn’t exactly disappear, or unwind, or anything, but it - it loosened, like a rusted bolt, and he twisted Gerard’s sleeve in his hand so hard it probably hurt where it dug into Gerard’s skin.

“You can’t feel sorry for me,” Frank blurted out. “Or I will - punch you, or something, I don’t fucking know, but it’ll hurt and you will regret it.”

“I don’t,” Gerard said, and it didn’t sound like he was lying. “You’re okay. You made it out okay.”

“Gerard, for serious, if you think I fit anybody’s definition of ‘okay,’ then you’re even more fucked up than I thought,” Frank said, but he couldn’t smile.

Gerard tugged on a bit of his hair. “You’re _my_ okay,” he said, which didn’t really make any sense to anybody but Gerard, but Frank knew what he meant, and the bolt loosened again, just a little.

“Why didn’t you want to tell me?” Gerard asked, curious, but not angry.

“I-” Frank started, but had to stop again. He didn’t want Gerard to worry about him. Or feel sorry for him. Or sigh that sigh where he’d expected Frank to be better and - again, but more than ever, irrevocably so - found him wanting. “I don’t know,” he answered, lamely.

Gerard gave him a little smile - he probably knew Frank was lying, but let that one slide too. “C’mere,” he said, and pulled Frank down again to the mattress to throw an arm over him, and Frank was warm, too warm, but he didn’t move, just stared up at the ceiling and listened as Gerard drifted off to sleep, fingers curved into the waistband of his pants. “You’re my person too, you know,” Gerard said. “In case you hadn’t figured that out. I know sometimes you have trouble with the obvious.”

“Shut up and go back to sleep,” Frank said, but there wasn’t any bite to it at all.

*

The engines still rolled along, even though the cold of the ship made it hard for the grease to spin the cogs, and Frank had to replace it often. The work left his hands black, streaks across his cheeks, but Gerard always palmed at it with a dishrag to get the ones he’d missed, even though Frank always slowed him down by biting on his knuckles.

They fucked in the kitchen - for old times sake, Frank laughed, as Gerard pinned his wrists to the floor - and the bathroom, even though it was torture not being able to turn on the shower afterward and scrub down. There were a few times in the cockpit, and then one time Gerard fucked him against the big bay windows, nothing but the black and stars around them, and Frank came so hard, Gerard’s cock in his ass and fingers in his mouth, that he thought he was going to die.

It was good. It was better. Frank didn’t feel better - there were still things there, gnawing around his edges - but he felt _more_ , maybe. The Tyche system was finally registering on the star map, as well, and while the concrete evidence of an end date to their stint in the black probably did a lot to help raise their spirits, Frank suspected that his confession, even though Gerard never brought it up again, was really the reason.

It just felt weird, to have a secret for so long, and then have it just be out there, with another person. It was a little addictive. Frank knew what he did, who he was - he took things, and money, and fake names, and other people’s property, and anything that wasn’t his. Nobody’d ever given him anything, not really, and nobody’d ever made him _want_ to give anything, even if it was just giving a fuck. He wondered what it would feel like to tell Gerard everything, reach down inside and pull out all those gross feelings Gerard liked to talk about so much and just - give them to him. Probably like a real shower would feel when they finally got to Tyche, _fuck_ , he was going to scrub his skin right the fuck off, and he almost didn’t care if the tattoos went with them, just as long as he was pink and raw underneath.

He was rooting around in the extra bathroom when he noticed it - he hadn’t been back in that bathroom since the night Gerard’d ended up there on one of his insomnia benders, and he’d had to lead him back. He needed some bandages for his hand - he’d sliced it open when he was careless with the engine, and it burned where the grease hit the ripped skin - and Gerard’d said something once about a first aid kit once, before he cut his hair.

Frank opened the cabinet under the sink, cradling his hurt hand against his chest, and pulled at the boxes underneath until he got to the first aid kit. There was a can next to it, with a thick white label, and when he shifted he knocked it with his forearm and it toppled over. He scrambled to catch it but failed, and the bottle fell over - but instead of the sloshing of liquid inside, there was a strange, out of place noise, like it was stuffed full of cloth.

Frank frowned. He bandaged his hand quickly, if only to stop the blood from getting onto his jacket some more, and then unscrewed the lid of the bottle. It _was_ fabric - it looked like a sock, or something - and when he pulled it out he immediately felt the familiar weight in his hands, and he had to resist shoving the whole thing into his face from sheer fucking glee.

*

“Gee!” Frank cried, running back through the hallways to the cockpit. “Look what I found, motherfucker!”

He almost slammed into a wall skidding around the corner he was moving so fast, but he couldn’t stop, would fucking fly if he could only get his legs to move fast enough. “Gerard!”

“What,” Gerard asked, already half out into the hallway when Frank made the corner. “What’s wrong?”

“Look what I found!” Frank said, holding out his hands. He had the sock, still, but in the other were crumpled credit notes, so many he could barely hold onto them, and the sock was still full of them. “There has to be thousands and _thousands_ , here, Gee, it’s not just the little bills, either, there are fucking twenty thousand credit notes in here, you don’t even, Gee, do you know what this means-”

“I -” Gerard said, and his face was pale, but he quickly smiled. “Yes, that’s - that’s awesome, that’s so fucking awesome.”

Frank stopped, faltering. He took a step back. He knew that voice.

“Gee, what,” Frank said, practically cradling the credits back to his chest. It’d been too easy. Was that it? Again?

“Nothing,” Gerard said, but he was _lying_ , and Frank could fucking tell. “I can’t believe it, that’s incredible, Frankie.”

“Why aren’t you excited?” Frank asked. His gut was sinking. No, fuck, come the fuck on, _no_.

“I’m just surprised, is all!” Gerard answered, frowning, palms out. “Where did you even find them?”

Frank just stared at him. Gerard wasn’t looking at him, was looking between Frank’s fist full of credits and the sock in his other hand. Frank stared down at it, too. It smelled bad, like the rest of their clothes, but it was - it was smaller than the socks they’d found in the other guy’s drawer. A hole on the ball of the foot, where a bit of paper was sticking out.

“This is my sock,” Frank said, voice hollow. “Why is this in my sock?”

Gerard was silent, and Frank looked up at him.

“You knew about this,” he said, and of course he fucking did. Of course he did.

“Frankie-” Gerard started, but Frank just took another step back.

“You fucking knew about this - this is - this is our money? Is this our fucking money, Gee?”

“Frank-”

“If you lie to me right now I will-” Frank started, but he choked on it, couldn’t even come up with a threat.

“Let me explain,” Gerard said, pleading, hands spread and twitching before him, stretched out towards Frank.

“You’ve been hoarding money,” Frank said. “You lied to me. How long have you been hoarding money?”

Gerard was silent.

“How long, Gerard,” Frank hissed.

“Since the Amano job,” Gerard said, and Frank felt like he’d been punched in the fucking face.

“That’s months ago, Gee. Fucking _months_ ,” Frank said, disbelieving. It was impossible. No.

“The money’s not for me-”

“It’s _our fucking money_ and you’ve been hiding it this whole time, just fucking squirreling it away. Why, huh? So you could just - all those times we needed it, and we had nothing, and it wasn’t true-”

“Frank, just listen-”

“No _you_ listen, you fuck,” Frank practically spat. His hands were shaking, and he could see his heavy breath in the cold of the room. “I can’t believe - were you just going to leave? Take it and leave me with nothing?”

“I wasn’t going to leave!” Gerard said. “It’s not _for_ me, it’s for - it’s for Mikey.”

“Mikey has a _job_ now,” Frank said. “He has a job and a wife and a real fucking life and he doesn’t need _our fucking money_.”

“He doesn’t have a real life, not yet, that’s what I’m trying to fucking tell you - it’s for him, it’s to get the chip out,” Gerard said, all in a rush, like he knew Frank would just cut him off again.

Frank froze. The chip. “Arrest record chip?” he asked.

“Yes,” Gerard said. “Both me and Mikey have one - we got them when we got arrested the first time, back when we were practically kids, on one of our first jobs - our grandma had just died, and I was distraught and messed up and sloppy, and they have your - your name and your records and they can just update that shit-”

“So you’re always on the list,” Frank finished. He’d made his living off the list. Anybody with a chip was an easy target - if you could drag them into the bounty’s office, they could scan them right there. Joes had scanners on their fucking belts. You didn’t even need a trial. Witnesses. They were on the list.

“You can get them taken out but it’s so fucking illegal and so fucking expensive, and if you try to do it in a back alley by someone who doesn’t know how to they rupture and fucking kill you,” Gerard said, and he sounded so desperate, actually scared. “But I just - I just - he _should_ have a real fucking life, he should, he has a chance, and if I can do that for him then I fucking will,” he finished, out of breath and red-faced.

Frank just fisted the credits in his hands. There was a moment, where Gerard’s face almost broke - he thought Frank was giving in, seeing his side, but Frank couldn’t see past the anger that was still rushing past his ears.

“You lied to me,” Frank said. “You made me feel like shit for keeping secrets, and you’ve been lying to me for months.”

Gerard was silent, mouth slowly falling open.

“I trusted you,” Frank said, slowly. “I don’t fucking trust anybody, and I fucking trusted you, and you fucking _knew_ that. You made me feel like shit because I wasn’t as good as you, wasn’t better for _you_ , and you were full of shit the whole time.”

“Frankie, no,” Gerard said, shaking his head. “It’s not-”

“Why didn’t you trust me with this?” Frank asked, and his voice cracked as he looked down at the credits in his hands.

Gerard was silent, but his mouth looked tense, like he was holding himself back. Frank wanted to drop it, just disappear, but he couldn’t. He had to rip at it, find the answer.

“ _Tell_ me, you fucking prick,” Frank said, practically snarling.

“How can I trust anybody when I know they’re just waiting for the price on my head to go up before they turn me in?” Gerard snapped, looking so angry, awkward and blotchy and Frank could see it in his face, the young kid who’d messed up and fucked his and his brother’s futures up forever. He was shaking too, but Frank felt apart from it. He couldn’t really feel anything at all anymore. Finally.

He dropped the sock to the ground, and let the credits fall messily from his hand.

“Turn you in,” Frank said, voice hollow. “Why would I ever turn in somebody so worthless?”

He turned and headed back to the other side of the ship, back towards the engines, and left Gerard to kneel on the floor and pick up the scattered money. He headed immediately for the maintenance duct - the sound of the engines covered the sound of him punching the wall twice with his fucked-up hand, so it hurt even more, reopened the gash, and if there were any other noises that he made, well, fuck it, it covered those too.

*

The last two cycles to Tyche fucking sucked. Frank didn’t leave the engine room except to slip into the stockroom and grab some more food and then head back and curl up in the dim space. He didn’t go back to their - Gerard’s - bedroom, or the cockpit, or even to the kitchen with the shallow metal cabinets and empty shit coffee can.

He waited until they’d successfully docked at Tyche - he’d watched the station approaching through the porthole, but hadn’t gone to the cockpit for any kind of report, because fuck _that_ \- to slip down to the docking bay, just ready to fucking _go_. It was time to leave. He should never have stayed in the first place.

There was a noise behind him in the hall - footsteps. Gerard. Frank didn’t say anything, didn’t turn. He could hear where the dock was auto-sealing around the doorways, locking them in. So close. Any moment now. Frank wanted to claw at the door, punch it till it opened and he could get the fuck out and away from Gerard just fucking staring at the back of him -

“Is this it, then?” Gerard asked. “This is it. We’re just - we’re done,” he said, and it didn’t sound mean, just sad, but Frank couldn’t. He couldn’t.

He didn’t say anything and when the light turned green he punched the button and ducked through the door as it slid open. Gerard didn’t follow him, and Frank headed immediately through the hallways of the docking platform, and when he made it around the corner he broke into a run.

*

“Another,” Frank said.

“Weren’t you in here yesterday? And the week before?” the bartender asked. “Barfing? On things?”

“A gentleman never barfs,” Frank said, reaching for the glass. “Which I am not, so yes, that was probably me.”

“Not a chance, man,” the bartender said, and pulled his shot glass away. Frank hated this bartender.

“Yeah well fuck you too,” Frank said, grumbling and slouching low on the table. This whiskey sucked anyway, fucking sucked some serious balls. And whatever, he was going to be late for work.

He slapped a credit down on the counter - no tip, because the bartender was the worst, and Frank hated him - and headed out, staggering through the back alleys until he got back to the club.

“You’re late, Fletcher,” the door guy said, but Frank just shot him the bird as he passed back through the doors. It was a shitty ass club with shitty ass dancers and shitty ass clients who didn’t even make a fuss so he’d have an excuse to punch them in the fucking mouths, like he was kind of desperate to do, but it was fucking work. All the other clubs on Musa were just as fucking boring. He checked his gun - the plasma core was a little low, but who fucking cared, it’s not like he’d have to use it - and shoved it back into the holster under his armpit.

He watched the girls dance a little and checked out the crowd, but mostly he slouched on a bar stool and stole shots from the girl in the white tank who thought he was cute. Mysterious, she’d said, like he had stories to tell, and Frank’d just smiled and tried not to make it look like grimace.

The clients all staggered out when the colony dimmed the lights, and Frank followed soon after, shoving the night’s credits into his pocket. There was a fight going on outside a bar down the strip and Frank’s skin practically throbbed for it, and he cracked his knuckles before throwing his first punch. By the end of it he had a black eye and some bloody fingernail scratches over the back of his hands and a thick bruise around his throat, and he hummed off-key the rest of the way home, spitting blood whenever he started to taste it.

He headed back to his room - it was a total piece of shit, but it was warm - and he stripped off his shirt and crawled into the bed, letting the cool sheets settle against his skin. When he woke up it was cold and his boots were still on and he was shivering, the sweat on his back cold and clammy. When he looked in the mirror above the cracked sink in the bathroom there was a bruise on his mouth that almost looked like a grease pencil smudge, and Frank tongued it until it hurt.

*

It was two months before he worked up the balls to check the list again.

“C’mon, Iero,” he said, fingers on the keypad to the data frame. “There are plenty of good hunts out there. Lots of money. Lots of assholes looking for a good fucking from the best bounty hunter around, which is you, in case you’ve gone soft and forgotten. You’ve also apparently gone insane, from all of the talking to yourself that you’re doing, but we’ll let that one slide, as long as you check the fucking list.”

He punched in the keycode, quick, and stepped back as the names and numbers started rattling down the screen. So many names, so many bounties - red stars marks next to the ones at the top of the wanted list, yellow ones next to the guys who’d knocked up another payment bracket, a green slash for the ones thrown back into the system.

He didn’t know what he wanted to see. He should just stop now, stop scrolling -

There. **Gerard Way**.

Red star. Yellow star. Frank pressed a thumb into the grove of the plastic around the edge of the frame. He darted a look over his shoulder before selecting the name and pulling up the file. Gerard’s mugshot came up - it was old, he’d been right, he was a fucking kid in the picture, with a round jaw and those angry, wide eyes - with a list of crimes that had been attributed to him, some just rumored. Associates - _Frank Iero, not pictured, no record on file_ , and _Mikey Way, brother, click here for file_. He scrolled past that, though, and down to the most recent information, and he had to stop, hands frozen.

It was crazy. It was so fucking sloppy it didn’t make any sense. Gerard had a high bounty on rumor alone, but this - the numbers were higher than they’d ever been, practically quadrupled since the first time they’d met, and, fuck, he was still racking them up, and all since they’d split at Tyche. Jobs gone bad, narrow escapes, he’d crashed a ship while docking and left a hole in the airlock that cost the colony thousands to repair. Stealing from Joes - always a favorite of his - but little shops, too, and they had grimy security camera footage and Frank could see the dark mess of his hair, arm outstretched, gun aimed towards the camera. His face was grainy, fractured, but Frank knew the dark shadows under his eyes. He pressed a thumb to the screen, hiding Gerard’s face, and tried not to feel anything, and failed.

Gerard was getting sloppy. Mikey hadn’t been captured, Mikey was fine. It was Gerard. He was upset, foolish, reckless, doing stupid shit because Frank wasn’t there to make him not be a fucking asshole.

Frank was still mad at him, so mad, so fucking _mad_ \- but it was all laid out in front of him, what a mess Gerard was. He wasn’t any better. He was a fucking mess, too, and he knew it, and didn’t know what to do about it.

Frank stared down at the number for Gerard’s bounty, the little red star next to his name. In one moment it was all so blindingly, perfectly clear, that Frank’s exhale was shaky, unmeasured. It would work. This was how it was supposed to go. Gerard had said it himself, really. Frank’d just been waiting for the price on his head to go up.

*

“Fucking hell,” Pedicone said, face pale, hand still holding the door half-open. “What the fuck are you doing here? How the fuck did you find-”

“I hunted,” Frank said, pushing past him and into his apartment. “I need a favor.”

*

The bounty office was a dim, squat thing, set deep into the wall of the colony. The neon lights in the window were familiar, even though he’d never been to the one on this system before. They wouldn’t know him like at some of the other places around.

“I can’t do this,” Pedicone said, halting beside him. Frank ignored him.

“You have to,” Frank said. “You owe me.”

Pedicone ran a hand over his head and exhaled. “Man, fuck you, when I said I owed you I thought maybe I could help you, like, get some fucking jobs, or something, maybe erase some bad credit debt, not this. I just don’t know, man, there has to be another way-”

“There isn’t,” Frank said, cutting him off. “I want you to do this,” he said, and it felt like it was true.

Pedicone fidgeted again, but didn’t stop him or say anything, so Frank kept walking to lead towards the bounty station. The clink of his handcuffs was the only sound in the hall besides Pedicone’s heavy breathing.

“You’ve got a fucked-up way of cashing in life debts,” Pedicone mumbled just before they hit the door, but Frank stared straight ahead.

“Only when I know how much they’re worth,” he said, and then they were inside.

*

“Hey,” Pedicone said loudly, brusque and mean, hand fisted in the back of Frank’s jacket. “I got one for you,” and the hunter behind the counter was immediately up, grabbing his scanner.

“Name?” he said, yanking out Frank’s forearm to hold under the blue light.

“Gerard Way,” Pedicone said. “Hear you guys have been looking for this son of a bitch for a long time.”

The scanner beeped, and the light turned green.

*

The first thing they did to Frank when he went to prison was shave his head. Not in that good way that he liked, with Gerard’s fingers on his neck, but rough, careless, uneven, so he had to keep running his hand over the longer patch behind his left ear, like a tic. The second thing they did was give him a uniform and stick him in the holding cell with the others, and the third thing they did - which everybody did, really - was incorrectly assume that just because Frank was small it meant he was weak.

He was pretty sure he’d cracked a rib, by the end of the fight, but the other guy had actually started to cry, and Frank had unanimously won.

He got a solitary cell after that, and a reputation along with it, and after that it was pretty okay. They gave him a wide berth and nobody fucked with him or talked to him and he was inside the system, a green highlighted line on the list, and that was okay. That was good.

*

Frank lay awake at night, sometimes, when he couldn’t sleep, and ran his fingers over the little scar on the back of his arm where Pedicone had put the chip in. He’d had to go through the back of his arm, and gone in deep, so the scar wouldn’t show when the scanners were looking at the front of his arm, and it’d left a small raised white line through the bleeding hands of his lady. He felt bad for marking her up, but it was okay. She’d understand.

Because he was inside, now, and Gerard was out, and Pedicone had the bounty on his - on Gerard’s - head, with a hefty cut for himself, of course, but the rest to Gerard. It was more than enough. It was enough for Mikey to get his chip out, and Gerard as well, and they could both start again, go back to before that mugshot of Gerard with the wide angry eyes - so fucking _young_ \- and decide to do something else.

And that was worth it.

*

The main thing about prison, though, was that it was fucking _boring_. Frank spent most of his time sleeping or jacking off or reading (sometimes jacking off _while_ reading, if he could convince the guy with the book cart to give him one of the really dirty ones). The only times he ever saw the others was during the hour-long break and they were fucking terrified of him now, which was useful, but it meant the days were long and quiet and the guards watched him too closely for him to start any shit.

Frank was in the corner of the rec yard doing pull-ups when he saw the guy from the first day out of the corner of his eye, watching him. Frank ignored him, panting as he did another set. The guy - Smith, or something boring, he didn’t care - hated him, totally despised him for how he’d embarrassed him on the first day. He was waiting to get back at him, Frank knew. It was just a shame Smith hadn’t figured he’d lose again, and lose worse.

*

“I can’t believe they let us read this,” Frank said, flipping over the cover of _The Count of Monte Cristo_ to look at the back cover. “They do know this is about breaking out of jail, right? Aren’t they worried about giving us ideas?”

The guy with the book cart shrugged. “I don’t think they’ve read any of these books,” he said. “And besides, it’s not like you can dig your way out. It’s a tin can.”

Frank smiled a little, thumbing over the worn pages. “You like this one, though?”

“I like them all,” he just said, wheeling his cart down the row. “Especially the ones they shouldn’t let us read.”

*

Smith circled him in the courtyard now, keeping to the edge of the walls. He had his cronies with him - they’d thinned out, after Frank’d made him look like a fucking pussy, but there were a few who stayed close. They watched him work out - Frank made sure never to exhaust himself too much, in case that was what they were waiting for, but they did nothing, just stared. Frank made sure to keep at least partially turned towards them at all times.

*

He tried not to think about Gerard, but he couldn’t seem to stop dreaming about him - a lot of times it was them fucking, or Gerard pinning him to the bay windows of the ship with his fingers in his mouth, swallowed up by the black, and he’d wake up to his hand on his dick or come on the sheets, like a fucking teenager. But there was no one there, so it didn’t matter, so he’d just turn on his belly and fist at his dick until he came again, face shoved into his pillow.

Sometimes he dreamed of just Gerard, though - sleeping, or the way he’d looked in Ray’s bar the first time Frank had seen him, and his heart had jumped in his chest - _Gerard Way_ , he’d known. _Prettier than they’d said_. His mouth, smiling, like he so rarely did, or frowning, or laughing when Frank had surprised him. His hands on Frank’s swallows. Most of the time, though, when he woke up from those, he’d just lie on his back and stare up at the ceiling, and wish his room had a window to see out into the black.

*

“I know you,” a voice said from across from him. Frank looked up from his book, eyebrows raised.

“I know your face,” the guy said. He looked vaguely familiar, but Frank hadn’t really looked at him before, couldn’t place it.

“I don’t think so, dude,” Frank said, looking back down and flipping another page.

“You put me in here,” the guy said, voice hollow. “You’re that hunter.”

Something inside Frank froze, went cold. But the guy - he wouldn’t have known his name. He remembered him now - it’d been years ago. Jackson-something. Assault with a deadly weapon. He’d begged when Frank had thrown him to the scanners.

“Not anymore,” Frank just said, and looked back down at his book. He thought maybe the guy would try to strike him, lash out - but the guy just stared at him before shuffling back away to the other side of the room. Frank exhaled, steady, and refused to run his fingers over the raised scar on the back of his arm.

*

“Finished?” the guy with the book cart asked, taking the volume where Frank passed it through the bars. “Good?”

“Real good,” Frank said. “What else you got for me?”

He passed over another one, with thick binding and a Russian name on the spine. “I think you’ll like that one, too.”

“Thanks, man,” Frank said, flipping it over to look at the back cover.

He started to push his book cart down the row, but stopped, hesitated, and then pulled back a step.

“Look,” he said, darting a glance over his shoulder. “I don’t know who you are, or why you’re in here, but I heard them talking and some of the guys are planning something.”

Of course they were. “Do you know when?” Frank asked, dropping his voice.

“Soon,” he said. “Real soon.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Frank asked, frowning. It could be a set-up, he could be with them. He might have been the only person who actually talked to Frank in that fucking place, but they weren’t friends. He didn’t have friends.

“You’re the only one who actually reads them,” he said, looking back down to the book in Frank’s hands. He sounded sad, and Frank could see then just how old he was, even in the dim orange lights of the hall.

“Thanks,” Frank said, and the guy nodded and pushed his cart back down the hall towards the other cells, disappearing into the low light of the row.

*

Frank could see it, now, the way that Smith was sizing him up. Just waiting. Frank did sit-ups against the side wall, mostly to give him something to do besides stare back.

He looked over at one point and Smith was talking with his buddies, speaking in low voices, huddled, fists at their sides. They were tense, and ready, and Frank knew, then, that it would be soon. He was strangely calm about the whole thing - they were going to lose, and at least it’d break up some of the monotony of the whole thing.

He looked over at Smith and Smith caught his eye - he smiled, and Frank smiled back.

*

There was a body above him, pinning him to the bed, smothering his mouth with something warm. Frank bucked up, throwing all of his weight into the body, but they held on, holding him down. He kept struggling but he couldn’t get them off, his arms down by his sides under their legs, and another hand at his throat.

Frank bit down as hard as he could and there was skin, there, in his teeth, and he heard the gasp and the hand was gone, but he got knocked by an elbow in the face. It was dark, he couldn’t see -

“I’ll fucking kill you, I swear to fucking God-” Frank spat, bucking up, but then the hand was back over his mouth.

“Will you just shut up for _one fucking second_ , Christ,” a voice said, and Frank froze.

 _No_.

“No,” Frank said, dumbly.

“Nice to see you too,” the voice said, and Frank blinked up in the dark at Gerard’s face.

“You can’t be here,” Frank said, numb. He was dreaming. This was another dream. Gerard couldn’t be here. It wasn’t possible. Frank turned his head quickly to look at the door - still closed, locked. There was no way.

“Well I am, so suck it,” Gerard said, frowning down at him.

“You’re nicer in my other dreams,” Frank said. “Can I have that Gerard instead?”

Gerard pinched him, and it fucking _hurt_ , and Frank writhed. “Ow, motherfucker!”

“That’s what you _get_ ,” Gerard said, sounding furious. “That’s what you get, you stupid, worthless piece of shit,” and then he wasn’t pinching him anymore, but punching him in the arm and shoulder, _hard_. “That’s what you get for such a stupid - horrible - worst plan, this is the _worst plan_ -”

Gerard. _Gerard_. _Fuck_.

“Stop, fuck, ow!” Frank said, trying to roll Gerard off of him, barely keeping his voice down to a hiss. “What the fuck are you doing here?” he asked, and Gerard punched him again hard in the shoulder.

“I’m here to fucking save you, you complete fucking tool.”

“I don’t want you to save me,” Frank said. “I chose this.”

“Yeah, Pedicone told me,” Gerard said. “He wasn’t going to, since apparently you made him _promise_ or some shit, but like hell I’m going to accept an envelope with the bounty money on _my head_ in it without asking some serious fucking questions.”

“He is the worst friend,” Frank sighed.

Gerard pushed off of him, then, standing up, and in the dim light by the little sink Frank could see him better - he looked older, tired, and his hair was a fucking mess, even by his standards. Frank didn’t move.

“Come on, get up,” Gerard said. “Time to go.”

“No,” Frank said. “I’m not going.”

“What?” Gerard asked. “They like, drugging you, or some shit? Come _on_.”

“No.”

“I will knock you out to get you out of here,” Gerard said. He was so sharp around the edges, like he only was when he was cornered on a job, too focused to be scared or distracted or anything else that could possibly get in the way. Frank’s skin prickled, warm.

“I will knock you out first,” Frank said, although Frank wasn’t too sure about that because he still seemed incapable of actually moving his body from the bed.

“I’m not leaving without you,” Gerard said.

“You have to,” Frank answered. “I want you to.”

“I don’t fucking care what you want,” Gerard hissed. “Because you don’t get to make a fucking decision like this that involves not just your life, but _my_ life, without consulting me first, which you didn’t, so it doesn’t count.”

“Of course it counts,” Frank said, angry. “And the last time I checked, you were all about making decisions that affected my life without consulting me first, so that’s bullshit.”

“Are we really going to fight about this now?” Gerard asked.

“I got nowhere else to be,” Frank said, crossing his arms.

“ _Frank_ ,” Gerard said, frustrated. “You want to fight about this, we can fight about this, I will fucking let you punch me in the face if it makes you feel better, but not _here_ , okay? Outside. With me. Come on, let’s go.”

“If I leave, you won’t be safe,” Frank said, suddenly so fucking _tired_.

“I don’t care about being safe,” Gerard said, gritting his teeth. “I don’t want that. I want you out of here.”

Frank was quiet. He rubbed his hands over his head and face, pressing in until he saw spots behind his eyeballs. _Fuck_.

There was a noise in the hallway, suddenly, and they both froze - a jangling of keys, and whispers.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Frank said.

“Old friends?” Gerard asked.

“If by ‘friends’ you mean a bunch of dudes who want to stab me in the neck while I sleep, then yes,” Frank said, finally pushing up from the bed and crossing to the opposite wall beside Gerard.

“Some things never change,” Gerard said, sighing as he pulled out his gun, but he almost sounded fucking _fond_ , standing in a fucking prison cell next to Frank, and Frank felt loose, wired, ready.

*

It took three shots for Gerard to nail the guys as they tried to slip through the door - one through the neck, the other two right between the eyes, and the two of them had to jump over the bodies to get out into the hallway as the alarm sirens blared. Smith’s face looked up at him, blank and gone, but then they were down the hallway and Frank didn’t look back.

“I was hoping to do this a little bit more of your style,” Gerard said, “I was all stealth and shit, thought you would have been so proud.”

“Where’s the fun in that,” Frank said, ducking down as a guard fired at them. He grabbed onto the back of Gerard’s jacket as they rounded a corner, his soft prison shoes skidding on the slick floors. “Fuck, fuck, hold on,” he said, reaching down and yanking them off, so it was just his cold toes on the metal.

There was a shot above his head that singed the metal by Gerard’s ear, and Frank yanked at him to get him out of the way. “Thanks,” Gerard said, and leaned quickly back around the corner to fire two shots down the hall. Someone cried out in pain, but there were still more shots, and Frank could hear the PA system sending out warnings across the whole complex. _Fuck_.

“Two counts,” Gerard said, and Frank counted the beats, _one, two_ , and then they both shoved off to run down the hall. Frank saw the other guard first, just on the periphery, and he yelled out as Gerard turned, took the shot, and the guy fell, his gun skidding back behind him.

They rounded another corner and Frank recognized it, now, where they were, and fuck, _fuck_. The lights of the main complex were bright, blinding, with nowhere to hide, but there wasn’t any time. Gerard and Frank sprinted as fast as they could past the rows and rows of howling inmates, slamming their fists and hands against the bars and walls. Frank could barely hear the sirens above them, or the footsteps of the guards chasing them down, just the screaming and his own harsh panting breaths.

“How much farther?” Frank wheezed as they went around another corner.

“I don’t know,” Gerard said as they ran. “I came in by the maintenance shaft, but that part’s completely swarmed. We can’t get back there now.”

They made it around another corner and through an open door to the next corridor. Frank stopped to slam his body against the door and Gerard was there, throwing the lock. They took off again - there were guards behind them, fumbling at the door, but Gerard shot at the keypad and it fizzled, broken.

The alarms rang out, though, and Frank’s skin was burning from the adrenaline. They made it around another corner before Gerard had to stop, press them up against the wall, arm across Frank’s chest.

“Frank, seriously, why the fuck did you think this was a good idea?” Gerard switched out the plasma core to his gun in a quick, practiced movement, locking it into place. There were more footsteps down the other hall, but Frank knew it was an emergency door, and most of the late shift guards wouldn’t have the access key. It’d buy them a few more seconds.

They took off again - they should have been quiet, but Frank couldn’t be, not right now. “It _was_ a good idea. You and Mikey could be free, could start over,” Frank said as he ducked underneath a window overlooking the cafeteria, close on Gerard’s heels.

“What about you?” Gerard asked, frowning over his shoulder.

Frank shrugged. “I never was much use to anybody. I was useful to you in here.”

Gerard’s running faltered, and Frank didn’t miss how his mouth went tight. “Frank, no.”

“I was just trying to do something good, because I _wanted to_ , I wanted to be good, I wanted to be _better_ -” Frank said, and he was glad they were running, because his chest was burning and his breath was hitched, and it was easier to pretend that was all it was.

“Frank, fucking - I don’t want you to be better.” Gerard stopped, then, frustrated, and stared at him. “We’re the bad guys, you know that, right? By all standard definitions, we are the enemy. I just want _you_. I’m a total fucking moron and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the money and if you thought I didn’t think you were - good enough, or some shit. You don’t have to fucking prove anything, all right?”

“I didn’t do it to win you back,” Frank said, defensive, because he didn’t. “I did it because I wanted to do something right for once. For somebody else. And - it just - it felt good. It felt _right_.”

“You want to be good, and right, or better, you do that,” Gerard said. “But don’t do it for me. Apparently I’ll love you even when you are a total fucking moron, so.”

“I can’t believe you’re mad at me for being selfless,” Frank said, annoyed, ignoring the part where Gerard’d said _love_ , because Gerard didn’t say things like that and it was throwing him off a little. A lot. There were loud shouts in the hallway behind them, though, and a shot blasted into the metal above their heads.

Gerard yanked them around a corner and ducked to fire, and Frank could hear them hitting the floor. _one two three_.

“I’m _mad_ at you for being selfless when I am the one who should be apologizing, and you’re making me look like shit. I’m not putting myself in prison for your birthday, or anything, _fuck_ ,” Gerard said, turning back to look at Frank. He fired again, forward this time, right over Frank’s head, and the guard trying to sneak around the other side of the counter staggered to the ground, clutching his wounded leg. “I mean, Jesus, how am I supposed to compare, since apparently my attempt at romantically breaking you out of prison seems to be failing spectacularly.”

“I am very impressed,” Frank said. “And very wooed.”

“Are you,” Gerard said. “Don’t lie.” He fired again - _one two_.

“So wooed,” Frank said, seriously, but Gerard just rolled his eyes, and it was so familiar and so fond and Gerard was there, he was _right there_ for _Frank_. _Frank’s_. There wasn’t time to kiss him, but he wanted to, so bad, so he just grabbed Gerard’s hand and yanked him down the hall.

“Come on,” Frank called. “This way.” He could do this. He could get them out.

Frank didn’t let go, and Gerard didn’t either, and they sprinted down the hall, Gerard’s boots and Frank’s bare feet louder than anything, even the guards still fumbling behind them. There was a long corridor just around the corner to the rec yard with a water sewage pipe that jutted out a little awkwardly between the two walls, too low, a miscalculation in the building schematics. Frank had stared at it every day on the way to the yard on his one hour break. He’d imagined it, plotted it out - a force of habit, more than anything - but it would work, if there was time.

“Hold them back,” Frank said, and let go of Gerard’s hand to jump for the pipe. He barely made it, had to scramble up and the rusted metal sliced his arms, caught on his shirt, but he pulled himself up and over, until he was practically straddling it.

“If you expect me to do that I will shoot myself in the face right now,” Gerard said, wheezing and staring up at them. “Just leave me here to die.” He turned over his shoulder to let off more shots, keeping anybody trying to come around the corner at bay.

Frank laughed, loud and sharp, and leaned out to - his baby, his favorites - the maintenance duct in the wall across from him. It was awkwardly placed, high up on the wall, normally blocked by the pipe, and the kind that they’d never really use in this hall, no real reason. He yanked at the bolts - rusted and weak, of course, he’d noticed it the first day - and they practically fell apart under his hands.

“Come on,” Frank said, and threw the duct cover to the floor by Gerard’s feet. “I got you.”

He leaned down, stretching out his hand, tightening his legs around the pipe, and Gerard just sighed before jumping for his hand, locking their grips. He planted his feet against the wall and scrambled up, Frank using every bit of strength he had to give him the leverage to pull up next to him, eventually having to grab him by the neck of his jacket and haul him over the pipe.

“I approve of your freakishly strong prison muscles,” Gerard said, wheezing and clinging to the pipe a little. “Please carry on.”

“Come _on_.” Frank rolled his eyes and shoved his way into the vent. “And kick the pipe out after you.”

Gerard fired a few shots down the hallway - there were still footsteps approaching, and a shot from a guard grazed the back of Frank’s calf, making him curse. But then they were in the duct and scrambling in the dark and he could hear Gerard firing again, kicking at the metal, and then the pipe behind him was shuddering and ripping out from the wall, hanging loose. There was water gushing behind them, and more sirens, and more guards calling out, and the sound of them sloshing awkwardly around, trying to find a way up, but Frank just crawled and followed the system, and the flow of cold air to the docking portal, Gerard right on his heels.

*

Frank fell out of the duct, hard, and slammed his chest and chin against the hard metal floor. Gerard almost fell on him but rolled at the last second, scrambling to get to his feet, and he grabbed Frank’s hand when Frank couldn’t get traction on the wet floor with his slick bare feet.

“How are we going to get out of here?” Frank wheezed. There was blood in his mouth and he spit it out, coppery and thick. There were ships in front of them, but they needed key codes to start them, let alone get out of the fucking exit doors, and they were fucking impossible to break, even for Frank. There was no way.

“I got us a ride,” Gerard said, leading them down around the corner to the docking area, instead of the security transports. The sirens were still blaring, but the security was minimal, apparently drawn to the riots and commotion on the other side of the colony. They ducked underneath the view of a couple of security guards in the main drag of the terminal, and then ran in a dead out sprint to the last ship on the row.

It was bigger, and unfamiliar, and Frank faltered when he saw it. “Whose is this?” he asked, as Gerard pulled him on board, locking the doors behind him. The cockpit was big, clean, new, and they practically threw themselves into the seats at the front.

Gerard ignored him, though, frantically kicking on the thrust, and picking up the handset and clicking it on. “Pedicone, you got the codes?” he said, and Frank’s gut lurched.

Pedicone’s voice came through on the handset, fuzzy and distant. “I got ‘em. You got him?”

Gerard darted a look at Frank. “Yeah, I got him. Do it.”

There was a whirring, the airlock doors in front of them opened, and Gerard kicked on the engines and backed them out of the port and out the exit. Frank clung to the seat, unable to even fumble on the seatbelt, but it didn’t matter - the doors opened for them, and then closed behind them - locking down, Frank suspected, if that really was Pedicone on the other side of the line, so no one else could follow, Frank owed him so much the next time he saw him, so fucking much - they were rushing through the last of the docks and then they were out, nothing but black and stars around them, and Frank could see them again, and he wiped at the blood on his mouth and chin and grinned, and laughed, and Gerard practically crowed, and they let the black swallow them, till everything else was just white rips in the dark.

*

“Where did you get this ship, Gee?” Frank asked, running his hands over the walls of the bedroom. “It’s fucking incredible. You steal this from a politician, or something?”

Gerard was quiet behind him. “I bought it.”

“You bought it?” Frank asked, turning around to look at him. “Like - with money?”

“Yeah.”

“Like - with - with _your_ money?” Frank couldn’t help but stare. He - wait. What?

Gerard fidgeted, and Frank could have sworn he was embarrassed, the tops of his cheeks pink. “I buy things sometimes,” he mumbled, picking at his fingernails.

The ship wasn’t enormous, or ostentatious, but it was - it was perfect, with big windows, and a sleek design, and the halls were brightly lit and clean, and the heater worked and the engine was quiet and the bed was huge, wide and thick.

“How much did this cost?” Frank asked, although his brain was still reeling.

Gerard kept his gaze steady. “One Gerard Way, just about.”

Oh. _Oh_. Frank’s gut lurched. “What? Gee, that was for, that was for you and Mikey-”

“I know,” Gee said. He turned his arm over, looking down at the pale skin, and Frank could see it, now, the red, angry looking scar just below the crux of his arm.

“You got it out?” Frank asked, exhaling.

“Mikey too,” Gerard said. “We don’t exist in the system anymore. At all. Blank and clean.”

“How?”

“Pedicone,” Gerard said, and Frank had to bit his lip a little at how _begrudgingly_ he said it. “He put yours in, but he took ours out, too, after I, ah, got some of the details of your plan, and was less than pleased. He did it free of charge, too, if we promised to get you out of there anything other than ugly and dead, he said. Ugly or dead. He didn’t specify.”

Frank smiled, then, stomach twisting happily. No more chips, and enough for a ship. A real ship. He’d done something right. “Good.”

“Just about,” Gerard said, and moved close to Frank, pressing him up against the wall. He turned Frank’s arm over, bended up - their faces were so close Frank could see his stubble, his eyelashes - and bent down so he could press a kiss to the line on Frank’s arm, right through his lady’s hands. “Frank, look,” he started, then stopped, oddly flustered. “I couldn’t have - this ship, is because of what you did. It’s yours, too. Ours. And Pedicone said you can get your - my - chip out, and you can have a new one, too.”

“A new what?” Frank asked, breathless.

“A new beginning.” Gerard looked up at Frank, and he looked a little terrified.

Frank looked at Gerard, blinking. “With you?”

“If you want,” Gerard said, and his mouth was a tense, tight little line, and Frank had to lean in and kiss him, right there, until he opened up and he could taste him. He tasted like shitty coffee and no sleep and _Gerard_ , and it was better. Better than anything.

Frank pulled back, and Gerard followed, pressing him against the wall with his knee between his legs, but Frank stalled him with a hand on his chest.

“Okay,” he said. “Just - can we just - not be total fucking morons, all the time? I’m too pretty to die too young.”

Gerard nodded, and pressed closer, breath on Frank’s face. “I don’t want to not tell you things,” Gerard said. “I don’t like that. So, I just - I have to tell you something.” He sounded so serious, so grave, and it was such a flip from the moment before that Frank froze, his stomach immediately twisting. It was too easy. Even after this, it was all too fucking -

“Your hair looks terrible,” Gerard said, running a hand through it, fingernails rough against his scalp. “Promise you won’t let them do that to you again. It’s just - tragic, really.”

“I’ll promise if you don’t stop doing that,” Frank said, moaning a little as Gerard scratched the nape of his neck. Gerard grinned, leaned in and kissed him, and didn’t stop, didn’t stop until they were on the ground, Frank’s sweaty palms sliding against the windows, bare feet catching on the skin of Gerard’s calf. Gerard kept his hands on him, in him, and when Frank came he bit down on Gerard’s knuckle so hard that it bled, and Gerard just wiped it on his throat, a red smudge against all of the black.

“I want to see the sun,” Frank said, panting, staring up through the windows and into the space around them. “From - from the ground.”

Gerard grinned wide, huge and bright over him, and Frank thought it might be sort of like that, looking up into the sun. Gerard didn’t think Frank knew the feeling, but he did, what it was like to be begging for the burn, skin hot and eyes swimming and all that painful, beautiful shit Gerard always thought about, but Frank did. All the time. He just didn’t need a star.


End file.
